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Golgotha, the strange, creepy stone hill right outside the walls of Jerusalem. It had always been seen as a bad omen.  Atticus did not believe in omens.  Not that it mattered right now...  He looked down at the gravel on the ground beneath him where he stood, leaned up on his sturdy white horse. He hung his head and sighed deeply. He was not feeling well, and he was in a lot of pain.  He did not want to be here.  Atticus lifted his head again and looked towards the city. It was a grey day in Jerusalem, the sky was as grey as the ground he stood on and today was unusually chilly for this time of the year. Last night had actually been really cold.  A cold, strong wind blew in from the desert, grabbed his deep red cloak, making it flutter in the wind and almost seemed like it wanted to rip it right off of him. The mane of the big white horse was also blown around by the wind and the horse snorted and shifted impatiently.  Atticus gave the horse a calming pat on the neck before he wrapped his arms around himself.  Even though he was still in very good shape for his age, he often felt cold since he got older. His red Roman cloak and tunic did not offer that much warmth on a day like this. They were more decorative than anything else. He missed his Celtic grey wool tunic and his usual thick, woven cloak. It had always kept him warm and comfortable.  A sudden sting of guilt in his chest and for a moment, he questioned his own sanity, for thinking about comfort in a situation like this. This was a place of death, often used for executions for the most severe crimes. Three men were about to meet their end here. Two were known criminals, the third one... was innocent.  Atticus closed his eyes and pressed his lips together.  This whole day had been nothing but chaos and pain. For everyone.  His leg, his hip especially, was aching from the fall and ending up under his horse, his head hurt from getting hit with a rock, his shoulder hurt worse than before and the red marks across his face were still burning, after he himself got a taste of the Roman whip.  Still, the pain he felt now, was nothing compared to what Jesus was about to endure.  While he waited on the plateau, the events of the past day and night kept flashing by in his mind. The words of Jesus, the shouting of the crowd and Pilate's verdict...  
At the Roman court:
 Pontius Pilate, the very young governor of Judea, he very seldom wore armour for anything official - there was no need for it, but today, he did put his armour on. There was unrest in the city, like no one had seen for years and he had a feeling,  today’s business would not go over as well as usual.  His trusted advisor, Atticus Aemilius, a Cohortes Urbanae, the highest position any soldier could hold, the right hand of Caesar and a skilled assassin, had also put his armour on. As a Cohortes Urbanae, he only had to wear a leather breastplate, that showed his superior rank, but now, when appointed commander of the Legions by the Governor, he had to wear the full Roman uniform.  Now they were both wating at the top of the stairs, when Caiaphas and his Temple guards brought Jesus into the courtyard, shackled and with heavy chains around his neck. They could clearly see that the guards had beaten Jesus even more since last night. Atticus and Pilate both looked at each other, then Pilate took a step forward.  "Are you always in the habit of punishing people before they have been judged?" He asked in an unfriendly tone.  "Governor we..." Caiaphas tried, but was instantly interrupted by the Governor who now sounded even more aggressive:  "What exactly are you accusing this man of?"  The high priest and the other Pharisees looked at each other but did not answer fast enough for the governor's liking.  "Well? I'm waiting!  After another moment of hesitation, Caiaphas answered:  "If he had done nothing wrong, we would not bring him here before you, Governor."   Pilate raised his voice:  "That's not what I asked!"  Governor Pilate's patience was running out before the discussion had even properly started. Atticus watched him anxiously. He was worried that Pilate would upset the Pharisees a little too much. He gazed out over the crowd. The courtyard was full of people, mostly Pharisees and the Temple guards and a bunch of citizens that had come along to see what would happen. It was not crowded yet and for now they had enough soldiers to easily put down any unrest.  As he carefully studied the people in the courtyard, he noticed that Jesus' mother was there. She was standing by one of the pillars on the side, together with the young Apostle, the one named John. Next to them was that beautiful woman from last night. The one who had put her hand on his arm, when Atticus had been so upset, that he thought his heart was going to give up. He had thought about her during the many sleepless hours last night. How she had acted as if she knew him. He remembered her touch. She seemed so compassionate...   His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the creepy old high priest.  Caiaphas gestured towards Jesus.  "He has broken our Holy laws, Governor."  "Then judge him according to your own laws." Pilate answered. He gestured towards Jesus.  "You are clearly more than capable of punishing someone by yourselves."  "But we are not permitted to condemn anyone to death."  A look of absolute confusion came upon the young governor's face. Pilate was not sure he had heard him right.  "Death? What could this man possibly have done to deserve the death sentence?"  "He violated shabbat, Governor."  "So what? How is that my problem? You'll have to come up with something better than that for me to condemn a man to death."  Yanni stepped out from behind Caiaphas.  "Violating shabbat is a serious matter, Governor. This is the Holy city..."  Pilate could not keep from rolling his eyes. If there was one man he had even less time for than Caiaphas, then it was Rabbi Yanni. Everything this man said sounded like a proclamation and just the sound of his voice ticked the governor off.  "I don't remember speaking to you, Rabbi Yanni. So if I want your opinion, I will have the soldiers beat it out if you."  Yanni looked both surprised and a bit embarrassed by the correction. Caiaphas pushed him out of the way and stepped forward.  "Jesus of Nazareth is a dangerous man, Governor. He seduces them with vile and disgusting teachings."   Pilate had never liked Caiaphas and the other high up pharisees. He knew that they were not really concerned with the well-being of the people, but rather bickered among themselves about who had the highest position or the most influence in their closed circle. His tone was arrogant when he answered them:  "And this would be the same Jesus of Nazareth that you celebrated as a king when he entered the city five days ago? Now you want him dead?
Can anyone explain this madness to me?"  When the Pharisees again hesitated to answer, Pilate shouted at them:  "Today, please! I don't have all day."   Another Pharisee, who looked even more like weasel, stepped forward and even addressed Pilate in Latin.  "Your Excellency..."  Pilate rolled his eyes and looked over at Atticus, who seemed equally unimpressed. They both knew it was just for show. The Pharisee continued:  "Your Excellency, the High priest has not yet told you of his worst crimes. This man claims to be the son of David. His followers see him as a king. He has gathered a large and dangerous cult, and he even claims to be the Messiah... the long-awaited king of the Jews."  Caiaphas added:  "He encourages others to violate God's Holy law, and he even urges his followers not to pay proper tribute to Caesar."  "They're lying." Atticus answered without taking his eyes off the crowd. "His followers are no threat to you, Governor, or the people and I personally watched him command his follower to pay the taxes for both of them."  Pilate listened to the words of his commander. Although Atticus had been acting a bit odd lately and was clearly concealing something, he did trust him on this. Atticus had been watching Jesus and his followers closely for the past years and he did not usually seem too concerned. Pilate was also well aware, that Caiaphas and his minions had handed Jesus over mainly out of spite. He looked at Atticus and nodded towards the crowd.  "Have him brought here."   Atticus stepped forward and started walking down the stairs. The movement made him realise how stiff he was after last night. His legs hurt with each step, and he tried not to wince. With his hand on his sword, he tried to keep his face as neutral as possible while also thinking:  I'm getting too old for this.   Caiaphas and the other Pharisees took a step back and were a little apprehensive, when they saw the Roman Commander come down the stairs towards them, with his hand on his sword, since none of them had any idea what the governor had just said to him.  Atticus was a tall and muscular man and his reputation for neutralising any threat to Rome,  without much trouble was known in the whole Roman Empire. The way his ornate Roman helmet framed his face, only enhanced his stern expression.  Caiaphas glared at him. He despised Atticus as much as he despised Pilate and he was hoping that the information he had now, would also stain the arrogant commander's reputation.   At the bottom of the stairs, his two most loyal soldiers, Marcus and Cassius, were standing on either side of the steps. Atticus just had to nod for them to step forward.  "Bring him here."  The two soldiers bowed their heads and went over to grab Jesus from the Temple guards and bring him to the governor. Atticus braced himself for walking up the stairs again, but before he could do so, a man in the crowd stepped forward and yelled while pointing at Jesus:  "This man is a liar! And deceiver and sorcerer! Because of him my daughter is dead! He put a spell on her and all his followers!"  Atticus recognised the older man. He had been talking to a lot of people in the area lately about Jesus and none of it was positive. He was trying to gather people against Jesus. From what Atticus had picked up, this was apparently the father of the young woman that Quintus had killed in Capernaum.  The man walked right up to Jesus and the two soldiers and kept yelling curses at him, until he suddenly felt a razor-sharp blade against his throat.  Atticus was holding his dagger against the man's neck and in a calm but firm way he told the man:  "You speak when spoken to."  The man held his breath and glanced over at the commander. Atticus looked him right in the eyes and raised his eyebrows:  "Your daughter was killed by a Roman Praetor. Now get back in line and keep your mouth shut. Understand?"  The man swallowed nervously and nodded, and Atticus put his dagger away and walked ahead up the stairs to the governor.   The two soldiers brought the still shackled Jesus into the governor's office.  Atticus could see how Pilate closed his eyes and sighed deeply as they walked inside. He did not really want to have to deal with this either.  "Leave us." Pilate said to the two soldiers, who bowed and did what they were told. Atticus stayed. He had the authority to do so, and he knew Pilate would want him nearby. He took his ornate helmet off and leaned up against the wall, near the entrance.  He was curious to see how Jesus would respond now that he was standing in front of the governor. He was also eager to see if Jesus would reveal anything about Pilate's life, since Jesus seemed eager to show everyone he talked to, that he already knew their life story.  Atticus shook his head to keep the memories from entering his mind again. He did not want to think about last night.  Pilate offered Jesus a cup of wine, to show that he wanted to be friendly after how Jesus had been treated, but Jesus would not take it. So the governor put the cup away again and smiled.  "You Jews and all your rules... it must make life so complicated..."  The young man eyed Jesus up and down for a moment. He could tell that Jesus was in pain and had taken quite a beating and Pilate genuinely felt bad for him. Jesus was barefoot wearing a plain beige tunic. He was fairly tall, slim but fit and still fairly young. He looked like a lot of the Hebrew men did, with curly, shoulder length dark brown hair, a longer, bushy beard and dark brown eyes. From what Pilate had heard and the way Atticus had talked about him, he had really expected someone more... impressive.  Pilate glanced over at the commander. Atticus in his red cloak and armour looked more like a king than the man in front of him did.  "So tell me, are you really the King if the Jews?"  Pilate spoke to Jesus in Aramaic and Jesus surprised everyone, by answering in perfect Latin:  "Are you asking me this because you want to know? Or is this what others have told you about me?"  Pilate raised his eyebrows. Clearly impressed by Jesus' language skills. The servant behind him looked almost shocked and even Atticus, who had been staring out the door, now turned and looked at Jesus.  Atticus was surprised. While it was not unusual for merchants, who travelled and sold their products all over the country and beyond, to know Greek, Latin or Arabic, Jesus was not a merchant. He had been a simple carpenter from a village so small and insignificant, that most people either had not heard of it, or they ridiculed it.  Pilate grinned at Jesus:  "Preacher, do I look like a Jew to you? Your High priests handed you over to me and now they want you executed. Why? What did you do?"  Jesus remained silent, so Pilate added:  "I have nothing against you, Rabbi and personally... I admire anyone who gives Caiaphas a headache." He looked off to the side and curved his lip. "I can't stand the horrible man..."  He looked into Jesus eyes:  "But my question remains... are you a king?"  After a moments silence, Jesus calmly answered:  "My kingdom is not of this world. If it were, do you really think my followers would have let me be handed over to you? They would have fought for me. But my kingdom is not if this world."   Regnum meum non est de hoc mundo. Atticus listened with his eyes closed. Hearing Jesus speak those words in Latin, gave him a calm feeling in his heart that he had not felt in many years. It was strangely comforting.   "So you really are a king?" Pilate asked.  "For that I was born. And to bear witness to the truth and all who hear the truth, hear my voice."  The young Governor took a step closer and studied Jesus for a moment.  "Veritas?" Pilate asked and tilted his head slightly. "Quid est veritas?"  What is truth?   Again, Jesus did not answer, he just turned his head and looked at Atticus. Pilate had noticed that Jesus kept looking over at the commander during their conversation. He shook his head.  "Oh... don't bother with him, Rabbi. I know he looks dark enough to be one of you, but Atticus does not believe in any gods."  Pilate turned and grinned at the commander by the door.  "Not even the gods of Rome are good enough for him." He said in a teasing way.  "Maybe because he already knows the truth. Deep down." Jesus answered without taking his eyes off Atticus, who was now looking a little uncomfortable.  "You're quite charming, Rabbi." Pilate said with a smile.  After that, the young governor turned and walked outside to face the crowd again.   "I have questioned this man, and I find no reason to condemn him."  There was immediately unrest and upset voices in the crowd and Caiaphas once again stepped forward.  "But Governor, this man has broken our Holy laws!"  Pilate was really getting sick of this whole thing.   "Is this man not a Galilean?" He asked.  "Yes..." Caiaphas answered.  "Then he is Herod's problem. Let Herod judge him."   Inside the Praetorium, Atticus sighed deeply. He remembered what had happened to the Baptizer. He could only hope that Jesus did not meet the same fate.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Back at the Roman Court, Part 1:
    The sound of the crowd was heard all the way inside the court. Atticus was running back to the Praetorium, as fast as his stiff and aching muscles allowed him to. This already bad day had quickly taken a turn for the worse.  Pilate's plan to hand Jesus over and make him Herod's problem, did not work out. The client king who had been intrigued by what he had heard about Jesus, had wanted to meet with him for some time. Now that he finally did, he was not impressed.  Jesus, who was brought to him in chains, limping, barefoot and with blood stains on his face, was not what Herod had expected from someone hailed as a king. Jesus had also refused to answer any of Herod's questions or perform any miracle for him. The displeased king did not find him "entertaining" enough and wrote him off as insane. He did not see a reason to condemn Jesus either, but he also did not want to deal with him - so he sent him back to Pontius Pilate.  That of course, did not please High priest Caiaphas. The corrupt High priest had quickly gathered an even larger crowd to support his cause and was leading them back to the Roman court.  Atticus could hear the sound of the crowd approaching and was trying to stay as calm and focused as possible, but he knew all too well that they did not have enough soldiers to control a crowd this size. The situation could easily get out of hand - and turn bloody.    Inside the Praetorium, Claudia approached her husband where he was sitting on the Golden seat, where he usually received his visitors. He looked defeated, sitting leaned forward and his shoulders slouching. They had been arguing with each other the past few days. Her dreams had been becoming more intense and she had a growing suspicion, that it would only end badly for them if Pontius got involved in condemning Jesus. She had wanted to leave Jerusalem, but of course, as governor of Judea, Pontius could not just pack up and leave. Claudia had even threatened to leave without him.  As she got closer, she noticed the sword lying on the table. It was not Pontius' own sword, his was still hanging on his belt and a governor's sword looked different. This was the kind of sword the legionnaires would carry.  The young governor heard her approaching.  "What is truth, Claudia?" He asked without looking up. "Do you recognise it when you hear it?"  She placed her hands on his shoulders.  "Yes, I do."  He looked up at his young wife:  "How? How do you recognise it?"  Claudia looked into her husband's eyes.  "If you don't know... then I can't tell you. It's something you have to... feel."  Pilate sighed deeply.  "I don't know what to feel, Claudia..." He paused for a while. "But I do know... Tiberius has warned me..." He looked into his wife's eyes. "If there is another riot under my watch, then Tiberius will have me executed."  He paused.  "If I do not condemn Jesus, then Caiaphas will definitely start a riot and it will be bloody... and if I do condemn him, then his followers might start a revolt instead. Like Atticus told me... their numbers have been growing by the day."  Claudia gently rubbed his shoulders and tried her best to calm her husband down:  "Atticus told you several times his followers are no threat to you."  "Well, Atticus hasn't been telling the truth either." He nodded at the sword on the table. "The Temple guards handed it in. One of Jesus' followers had it."  He looked up at his wife.  "He's been supplying them with weapons, Claudia. I know his background... what if his loyalty is not with Rome anymore?" They were interrupted by a loud noise, then the door suddenly flung open, and Atticus stumbled in sideways.  "Governor..." He was out of breath and clearly worked up about something. "You need to get out here."  The governor straightened up in the chair.  "Where were you, Atticus?"  The commander looked confused.  "What?"  Pilate got up from the golden chair. His tone was harsher now.  "Where were you?"  Now Atticus' tone and facial expression hardened as well.  "Outside. Making sure you still have a town to rule over."  The governor took a few steps closer.  "You've been consorting with Zealots."  "Excuse me...?"  The stern look on the governor's face intensified, but he was starting to lose his composure:  "You were seen, Atticus. You've been handing Roman weapons to a known Zealot... and you were gone for hours last night... You were with his followers and yet, you reported nothing."  Atticus could not believe what he was hearing.  "You're spying on me?" He now took a few steps closer as well. "Why didn't you just ask?"  Claudia was still standing behind the chair watching them both carefully. She had known Atticus for as long as she had known Pontius, and she could tell the Cohortes was not taking too well to being accused of what was basically treason. She glanced over at Pontius. She only wondered if her husband had picked up on it.  Next, everything happened very quickly. Atticus marched over and grabbed the governor by his armour, more or less picking him up off the floor. Pilate was a rather short and slim man and Atticus was tall and muscular. The governor was almost hanging from his grip.  "Listen to me, Pontius..."  He looked into the governor's eyes. His voice remained calm.  "I have served you for over ten years and I have served Rome longer than you have been on this Earth... I left behind a comfortable life in Gaul to come back here and sort out all the problems you keep getting yourself into..."  His grip on Pilate's armour tightened and now the governor's feet were almost dangling above the floor.  "I have treated you better than most Roman fathers treat their sons..."  He let go of Pilate and took a step back. Atticus took a deep breath.  "Now... I need you to go out there and try to make a decision without me holding your hand for once. I will go tell my men to gather all the troops..."  "No." Pilate still trembled a bit, but he tried sounding as authoritative as possible. "I will not have you starting a riot by bringing all the troops here..."  "Pontius..." Now the look in Atticus dark eyes was not so calm anymore. "There is already a riot... and it's right on your doorstep." When they walked out to the top of the stairs again, Pilate lifted his hands to silence the crowd, then in a harsh tone called out:  "Herod saw no reason to condemn this man... and neither do I."  There was instantly raised voices, protests and stirring in the crowd. Pilate again raised his hand and Atticus stepped forward and shouted:  "Silence!"  Once the crowd settled down, Pilate spoke to them:  "As you all know, every year for the Passover Feast, I grant you the release of one prisoner."   The young governor thought he had found a way out of having to condemn Jesus, by offering them someone way worse instead.  "We have in our prison right now, the infamous robber and murderer Barabbas..."   Atticus instantly turned his head and stared at the governor.  "Have you lost your mind? It took us days to hunt him down... two of my men were seriously injured"  Pilate looked at him:  "That is why it has to be him. The people will not want him back on the street."  Atticus marched over to the young governor. His tone was harsh:  "Do not underestimate how much the Pharisees hate Jesus." He grabbed onto Pilate's shoulder. "Pontius... Do not underestimate Caiaphas."  Pilate shook the commander’s hand off his shoulder.  "Caiaphas has no power if he does not have the people behind him."  Atticus curved his lip, then let out a deep, frustrated sigh. He was disappointed. It was like Pilate refused to understand. All Atticus could do was order his men to go and get Barabbas from the prison. Once the Roman guards returned with the prisoner, Pilate again addressed the crowd:  "So... which one of these two men will you have me release? Barabbas..." He gestured towards the criminal still being back held by the guards, then placed his hand on Jesus' shoulder:  "Or Jesus of Nazareth, also called the Messiah?"  This time it was Shmuel, who stepped forward first and yelled:  "He is not the Messiah!"  The crowd quickly joined in:  "Glory to Rome! No Messiah!"  Of course, now Caiaphas also stepped forward, raised his hands and called out:  "Release Barabbas!"  Again, the crowd immediately joined in and now demanded the release of Barrabas. Atticus was pretty sure he saw Jesus roll his eyes at them, because he probably knew as well as Atticus that this was not about which crime was worse. Only Pilate seemed genuinely surprised. When he turned to the commander, Atticus looked utterly unimpressed.  "Well done. Governor..." He muttered. After the Governor once again asked who he should release, the crowd, led by Caiaphas, kept shouting: "Barabbas!".  Pilate could not understand it. Barabbas was a vile, violent criminal. A thief, robber and a murderer - and every kind of insane you could think of. The city had breathed a sigh of relief after he was finally arrested.  Still, Pilate had to keep his word and release him.  When the soldiers brought Barabbas out to them and took his shackles off, the wild-eyed criminal raised his fists in the air and did a triumphant little dance for the crowd before he walked over to Atticus and started taunting him.  Atticus had been the one who arrested him and threw him in jail. He was not one bit afraid of Barabbas, Atticus had already beaten him up once, but more disgusted by him. When Barabbas walked right up to him, stuck his tongue out and pretended he wanted to lick the Commander in the face, Atticus calmly glared at him, without moving a muscle. It took every bit of self-control Atticus had not to pull out his dagger and ram it through the criminal's throat.  "I salute you, Commander!" Barabbas teased before suddenly spitting the Roman Commander in the face and laughing triumphantly.  Though Atticus was not going to let that slide. With one hard punch to the face, Atticus floored the criminal. Barabbas tumbled to the ground and looked up in shock as the blood started dripping from his nose. Atticus leaned down over him and now he spit Barabbas in the face and growled:  "What goes around, comes around, you filthy mongrel."  Then he straightened up and gave him a good kick in the ribs before he gestured towards his men:  "Get him out of here! Don't be gentle."  As his men dragged Barabbas out of there, Atticus went over to one of the servants and asked for some water and a cloth, so he could wash his face.  The baffled governor had watched the whole scene play out and now turned back to the crowd:  "And what should I do with Jesus of Nazareth?"  Without a moment of hesitation, Caiaphas pointed at Jesus and yelled:  "Crucify him!"  Pilate's eyes widened with shock and surprise. Crucifixion was the cruellest and most severe form of capital punishment, reserved for known murderers,  Zealots and insurrectionists. A few men near the front, one of them being the older man Atticus had told off earlier, quickly joined in on Caiaphas' request:  "Nail him to the cross! Crucify him!"  It did not take long before most of the crowd joined in as well.  "Crucify him! Crucify him!"  The young governor stared at them for a moment, but then broke free of his paralysis and took a step forward onto the stairs.  "No!"  The sudden harshness and determination in the young governor's voice surprised both the crowd and Atticus and temporarily silenced them.  "I will not crucify this man! I am going to punish him for causing an uprising in the city and then I am going to set him free."  Caiaphas almost sounded a bit defeated now:  "But Governor..."  "Enough! My verdict stands."  Without taking his eyes off the high priest, Pilate handed a scroll with the order for the punishment to Atticus.  "Atticus, make sure he is punished enough that it shows, then bring him back here."  Atticus took the scroll with the order from Pilate's hand without looking at it, then grabbed Jesus by his upper arm and led him down the stairs. His soldiers were following to clear a path through the crowd, but most people already got out of the way for Atticus as he dragged Jesus along with him. A few people in the crowd spitting after Jesus as he passed them.  All the while, Pilate and Caiaphas were both glaring at each other, each carefully measuring the other, before the high priest turned around and walked in the direction Atticus had taken Jesus. The other Pharisees and the Temple guards followed right behind him.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Back at the Roman court, part 2:
    When they reached the courtyard of the prison, where the punishments were usually carried out, Atticus handed Jesus over to the other soldiers without saying a word. Then he went over to the desk where the soldier who would be in charge was sitting, slammed the scroll with the order down on the desk without looking at the soldier or the scroll and just kept walking. He continued across the courtyard and all the way outside the prison.  Atticus had no desire to stay. He had seen many kinds of punishments carried out over the years and although he had become pretty indifferent to even the most severe punishments, he took no pleasure in it. His job was to make sure that dangerous criminals were punished for their crimes and knowing he was good enough to catch them, was satisfaction enough.  Right now, he needed to calm himself down.  Once he got outside of the building, he leaned up against the wall, pressed his hand against his chest and tried to catch his breath.  That strange chest pain he had felt last night was back and it was difficult to breathe. He had felt it all week. Or actually, ever since he had returned to Judea a couple of years ago, but he had felt it more often the past year and especially this last week.  He brought his hand up to his head and as he touched his thick, curly hair, he suddenly realised he was not wearing a helmet. He felt confused. Had he been wearing it earlier? He could not remember. It was not the only thing he had forgotten lately, and it bothered him that someone had seen him handing Simon Z the two swords. He had not been careful enough.  He closed his eyes. Too much had happened this week. With the unusual number of pilgrims coming to Jerusalem this year because of Jesus, it was already harder to keep an eye on everything that went on in the city.   Jesus triumphal entry into Jerusalem. People had greeted him as their king, sang songs of praise in his name, thrown rose petals and waved palm leaves. There had been a sense of euphoria in the city, and everyone gathered in the streets were either singing along or chanting.   Hosanna to the son of David! Hosanna! Hosanna!    Atticus had been right there in the crowd, and he had not expected to react and feel the way he did. When it turned out that Jesus had no plans to be crowned king of Israel, a lot of people had been disappointed, and Atticus had realised he briefly felt the same thing. Jesus also did not have an army to overthrow Rome and when he encouraged them to still pay the taxes to Caesar, even some of his own followers had been unhappy with him.  Since he was no threat to Rome, Atticus did not have to worry about him or his followers for a while. There had been enough to deal with anyway. After the fire at the Praetorium, Atticus had to go after the seditionists that had started it. However, leading a group of soldiers, hunting down and arresting dangerous criminals, even if it meant getting in an actual fight, was easy. Unlike the emotional chaos he had been forced to deal with lately.   After handing Jesus over to Herod's guards, Atticus had refused to go back inside the Praetorium. Instead he had wandered around outside, without really knowing where to go. He had felt anxious in a strange way and too restless to talk to anyone.  He had worried that Herod would condemn Jesus to death, just like he had done with the Baptizer. As annoyed and disappointed as Atticus had been after talking to Jesus, he did not want to see him executed.  In his desperation, he had even turned his hands up in prayer, but he could not remember any specific prayers. Instead he remembered the words of Psalm and said them out loud as a prayer of protection for Jesus:   "Look on our shield, O God; look with favour on your anointed one..."   It was the same Psalm he had recited the first time he walked through the Praetorium in Rome, as a seventeen-year-old soldier.  "Look on our shield, O God.
  look with Favor on your anointed one.

Better is one day in your courts

than a thousand elsewhere.

I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of      my God

than dwell in the tents of the wicked.

For the Lord God is a sun and shield.

the Lord bestows favour and honour.

no good thing does he withhold

from those whose walk is blameless..."
  As he went back inside the Antonia Fortress, he glanced up at the statue of the Victory Goddess as he walked past it.  Atticus had never worshiped the gods of Rome. He had never believed in them. Neither had his uncle, Dibhlayim - or Marius - as he was called in Rome, or his grandfather Nadir. Despite both of them being high-ranking soldiers in the Roman army.  He was twenty-seven the last time he had ever recited a Psalm. Atticus closed his eyes. He did have faith once... but he had lost it. He had hardened his heart towards everyone and everything and Adonai had never heard his prayers.  The pain in his chest got worse. There was a stabbing pain near his heart, and he had to stop and catch his breath. He remembered Jesus' words from last night:  "Your heart still remembers."The Baptizer had gone even further:  "Your heart is judging you."  Atticus had never intended to speak to the Baptizer. He had stumbled upon him by accident the last time the Baptizer was arrested. 
  Atticus had been on his way home at the Praetorium and had just entered the courtyard, when four soldiers were escorting the Baptizer out of the Praetorium, so he could be brought to Herod's court instead. He had been rambling about something to the soldiers when he suddenly looked up and discovered Atticus.

"You!" The Baptizer stopped in his tracks, making the surprised soldiers holding on to him stop as well. Atticus had also looked up when he heard him. John smiled, with that excited glow in his eyes. A lock of his unkempt, grey-streaked hair hanging down in his face.

"You know the truth!" John said. "Deep in your heart... I can see it in your eyes."

Atticus smirked and came a bit closer. John's smile grew wider.

"So, the Zealot-killer returns..."

One of the soldiers immediately hit John across the mouth.

"That's no way to speak to the Cohortes ..."

"Soldier!" Atticus interrupted. "There is no need to strike the prisoner. His words are harmless."

The soldier nodded and bowed his head. The Baptizer chuckled softly to himself before looking up at Atticus. The Baptizer was a small and thin man, he barely reached up to the cohortes's shoulder. It was hard to imagine, that this frail little lunatic made both kings and religious leaders fear him. He looked into Atticus' eyes.

"Still looking out for us..." He said with a smile. "You still honour your parents... and you still feel connected to your people..."

The two men studied each other a moment before John said:
  "Tell me, Cohortes... after you had murdered your way to the top... what did you find there?"
  Atticus did not answer, he just looked into the Baptizer's eyes, so the Baptizer answered for him:

"Emptiness... All you found was emptiness."

Atticus smiled down at him.

"Says the homeless man wearing a camel skin and eating bugs in the desert."

John took a step closer:

"You have wandered in the wilderness all your adult life, Cohortes. Lost in the darkness... Until you heard HIS words..." He paused and almost whispered: "The only time you feel peace is when you hear HIM."

Atticus chuckled.

"Okay... that's enough crazy for today." He nodded at the soldiers. "Take him away."

As the soldiers were dragging the Baptizer along, he turned his head and shouted at Atticus:

"Your heart is judging you! That is why you feel this way. But you can still return... return to Him! And find true peace in your heart. Or your heart will break beyond repair..."
  Atticus just shook his head and laughed him off as a lunatic. Yet, the words of John the Baptizer still stayed with him. At first he had not thought much about them, but the more he saw of Jesus so called miracles and listened to his words, the more he started to question everything he believed - or did not believe. Especially after that stormy night by the sea near the Decapolis...  He remembered how the storm had suddenly stopped. Everything went completely calm, the sun started to rise, and he was left standing on the shore with his horse, soaking wet and confused, refusing to believe what he had just seen.  When he came back to Capernaum, everyone had noticed that he was not himself. Even Quintus.  Atticus had never told anyone what he saw that night. Not even Pilate, who he usually shared everything else with. He had told both Pilate and Gaius about Jesus' other signs, but him walking on water to save his friends from the raging waves... they would think he was insane. Though Atticus knew what he had seen, and he knew the words of the Psalm:  Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble,
and he brought them out of their distress.

He stilled the storm to a whisper.

the waves of the sea were hushed.
   Who could command the winds... but God?   Last night in the prison, the conversation with Jesus had stirred up feelings and memories Atticus preferred not to think about, but it also left him angry and disappointed. He refused to believe that the Messiah, the son of God, would allow himself to be arrested and tortured, maybe even executed.  He closed his eyes and exhaled. He felt almost as confused and lost as he did the day he had to leave his homeland. He had been a child and had not understood why he had to leave everything he knew behind, his whole World... and even his name.  Since then Rome had been his World and he had lived by and upheld Roman law his whole adult life. Though the older he got, the more he realised that serving Rome was not as fulfilling as he had once thought.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

In the prison courtyard:
  
The Hills of Judea, many years ago:
  
 The battle was over. The Zealots had been defeated. Most of the rebels were dead or badly injured. Only very few legionnaires had lost their lives or suffered any major injuries. Atticus was lying on the ground. His eyes were closed, and his tunic, uniform and face were splattered with blood.

Nico, his long-time friend and former instructor, knelt down next to him. He noticed that Atticus was still breathing. As he carefully removed Atticus' helmet and ran his hand over the younger soldier's short black hair, Atticus opened his eyes. Nico let out a sigh of relief:

"Thank the gods you're alive..."

Atticus coughed a few times. Being pushed to the ground by the horse had knocked the wind out of him. He turned his head slightly and threw a worried glance off to the side.

"Is he dead"? Atticus asked.

"Who?" Asked Nico.

Atticus swallowed and had to catch his breath.

"Tertius... he's dead, isn't he..?"

The older soldier smiled down at him:

"No. Thanks to you he isn't."

Nico straightened up and gazed towards the edge of the field.

"He was badly cut in the leg, but they managed to stop the bleeding... he will be alright."

Atticus closed his eyes.

"Adonai be praised..." He panted weakly. It had been a while since he had last turned to God in prayer.

Atticus trembled and a few tears left the corner of his eyes. Nico gently caressed his cheek with his big, rugged hand. His brows furrowed with concern.

"Are you injured?"

Still trembling, Atticus opened his eyes and shook his head slightly.

"No... not badly." He looked up into his friend's eyes. "I hate this..." He said, barely able to keep his voice steady.

The other man placed his hand on Atticus' shoulder and rubbed him gently.

"I know, my friend... I know. Most of us do..." He studied the younger man's face. "That is why you are a good man, Atticus."
 
  Atticus had never enjoyed killing people. He just happened to be very good at it. Much like Nico himself. Despite Nico having a decade more of experience and being the best trainer in all of Judea, Atticus had quickly outranked him. Because he was also intelligent and highly educated, with excellent observation skills, Atticus had become a highly valued advisor to the powerful Romans of Judea. Not once had Nico been jealous about his success. He was proud that a man under his command had managed to rise to this level and Atticus had still remained humble.
 
  Nico laid his hand on Atticus' chest.

"Stay down a while, Atticus. Catch your breath...There is no need to go anywhere yet." He said calmingly.

Atticus placed his own hand on top of Nico's and closed his eyes. The comfort of the other man being there and knowing that his own efforts had saved another good man's life helped bring some light to this otherwise dreadful situation.

As always after taking a life, in his heart, Atticus asked Adonai for forgiveness, and he also thanked the Lord for protecting him and once again sparing his life.
  Atticus could not stop his hands from shaking.He kept telling himself he was just worn out from all the hours out in the cold last night. He had hardly slept, and he had not eaten, hardly even drunk anything in more than a day.  He had been sleeping badly all week, waking up every night either from the pain in his chest that made him lose his breath, or from strange dreams. The other night he had dreamt that he woke up in his bed at the Praetorium, bleeding profusely from a wound in his side before he suddenly woke up for real. He had flung the blanket aside and immediately pressed his hand against his side, but of course he was not bleeding from any mysterious wounds. His heart had been pounding in his chest, and it took him a while to calm down and for his heart to start beating regularly again.  After three nights of the same nonsense, Atticus had sneaked off to a Jewish doctor at the edge of the Holy City and asked for something to help him sleep. He did not want the other Romans knowing he had been to the doctor, but also, the Jewish doctors were usually better.  Of course the sedative proved a little too effective and knocked him out for too long. The other day, he was still lying in his private quarters and snoring at noon. Until Pilate had marched in and wondered what in Hades was going on with him.  "Hades and Styx, Atticus! What is with you? You're sleeping away half the day... are you drunk?"  Atticus had hardly known what country he was in when the governor woke him up. Since then, he had not got much sleep at all.  However, deep down he knew it was not just the lack of sleep. His conscience was judging him. Punishing Jesus was wrong. He may not be the Messiah, but he was still a man of God, possibly a Prophet.  He himself had spoken harshly to Jesus the first time he was brought in for questioning, but he had also commended him for making Jericho safer again, by curing the lunatic or demoniac that had been plaguing the city.  Atticus had been suspicious when Jesus gathered so many followers so quickly. Preachers could quickly become extremists or rebel leaders. Atticus had seen it many times before and he wore the scars to prove it.  Though the more he saw Jesus performing his miracles and healing people, the more he seemed like a man who just wanted to do good, and the more Atticus listened to his sermons and teachings, the more he wanted to hear. It was a strange feeling. Something Atticus had not felt in many years. Like something drawing him closer. Leading him... home.  He always felt a deep inner calm after listening to Jesus. It reminded him of when he was a young man. When he used to celebrate Shabbat with his family and friends. How he used to enjoy the peaceful evening, after the intense weeks as a centurion. It was decades ago. For so many years now, Atticus had rejected religion and let bitterness take hold of his heart.  He thought of the words of his uncle:  "Once you have seen enough battles, you realise that there is as little help coming from above as anywhere else."  At the same time, he could not forget what Jesus said: 
  Omnes qui veritatem audiunt, vocem meam audiunt.
   Jesus' words to Pilate. All men who hear the truth hear my voice.   When Jesus was handed over to King Herod, he could have been given an immediate death sentence if Herod felt threatened by Jesus claiming to be a king. Atticus had less reason to worry now. Jesus had been sentenced to flogging, which usually involved a leather whip or flexible wooden rod. Atticus himself had suggested it to Pilate earlier this week when the High priest had pressured the governor to deal with Jesus. Mostly, it was not enough to break the skin, but it was enough to bruise you, and it would leave painful, burning stripes. The pain was often enough to knock you out and it would take some time to recover from. Jesus was a fairly young and fit man, he would be able to handle it, but he would be in rough shape.  Now Atticus knew it would not matter. Even if they were to beat Jesus unconscious, unless Jesus were dead, it would not satisfy Caiaphas. He wanted Jesus gone and he wanted it to be a public, messy display - with the blood on the Roman's hands instead of his own.   In the prison courtyard, Jesus was stripped of his tunic and shackled to a pillar. The Pharisees, led by Caiaphas also entered, followed by some of the people in the crowd. When President Shimon joined them, some of the Pharisees pushed him out of the way, so he went and stood next to one of the legionnaires instead. Then he glanced over at the other Pharisees almost as defiantly as Jesus did.  Four legionnaires with spears came and stood in front of the crowd, to make sure order was kept.  John, Mother Mary and Mary Magdalene ended up right behind one of the legionnaires, the younger, dark-haired soldier with the large scar across the side of his face. Mary Magdalene knew his name was Marcus. She had spoken to him the night before and asked for his help.  Caiaphas was watching with a satisfied grin and Jesus glared at him and the other Pharisees, before looking at his mother and then turning his gaze up towards heaven.  "I am ready, Father."   Like Atticus had predicted, they used a pair of flexible rods for the punishment. Two soldiers on either side of Jesus took turns in handing out the lashes. When nearing fifteen lashes, even Caiaphas started to look bothered. Shmuel seemed horrified and even Shemmai looked uncomfortable and glanced over at the high priest. Yanni however, still seemed unimpressed.  Caiaphas shook his head.  "I have seen enough..." He said and walked away. The rest of the Pharisees followed him.   Jesus withstood the abuse pretty well and remained standing until the very last few lashes, which made him drop to his knees. Near silence filled the courtyard for a few moments, until a few gasps of surprise and shock were heard when Jesus suddenly stood up again. Trembling and panting he looked at the Romans with the same defiant expression as before.  The Romans were shocked. Never before had they seen anyone get back on his feet right after this kind of punishment. If it were not for the red marks and bruises from the beating, you could almost believe he had not been punished at all.  The two soldiers carrying out the punishment were still catching their breaths and almost seemed to be in worse shape than Jesus. A few of the other soldiers laughed at them, mocking them:  "You're not even strong enough to punish a Jew? Weaklings! Let a man do the job instead."   The soldier at the desk called out at them to use a different whip and pointed at something on the bench. When one of the soldiers picked it up, it made a clattering sound, and he held it up to show it to Jesus and the crowd. Mother Mary put her hand up over her mouth and a tear rolled down her cheek when she saw it. John and Mary Magdalene both stared in terror and even the soldier with the scar on his face looked nervous.  It was the Roman scourge. One of the most feared Roman weapons. A short whip, which consisted of a braided handle and several leather straps, that all had sharp pieces of metal, glass and sharp bone fragments attached to them. At the end of each strap was a metal hook. It was a weapon designed to literally tear the flesh from the bones. Powerful enough to sever muscles and tendons and it left deep, bleeding tears in the skin and flesh. Usually it was enough to threaten someone with it, to make them smarten up. It was a brutal punishment and often enough, the men convicted did not survive.  The soldier, Marcus, looked around to see where their commander was. He was pretty sure Atticus would not have allowed this, but he was not there.   The soldier seated at the desk signalled for them to start and almost everyone jumped as the first lash tore deep wounds across Jesus’ back. The sickening sound of the lashes and Jesus' pained gasps filled the courtyard.  After the fifth lash, Mother Mary turned and walked away through the crowd. The pain from watching her only son being tortured was too much. Mary Magdalene whimpered and even the soldier with the scar turned his head and squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to watch.  Only one Pharisee was still there, President Shimon, but he looked almost as tormented as Jesus' loved ones. He had been the only Pharisee besides Yussif and Nicodemus, who had defended Jesus. After a few more lashes, he also closed his eyes and hung his head, while bringing his clenched fist up to his mouth, unable to watch more of the brutal torture. His hand trembled slightly, and he seemed both angry and saddened that this was allowed to happen.   When the hooked whip suddenly tore a large wound across Jesus' ribs that made him scream in pain and lose his balance, leaving him hanging from his wrists, Mary Magdalene brought her hands up to her face and gave off a cry that startled both the soldiers and the remaining crowd of people.   Her loud cry was heard all the way outside the building where Atticus was. The Roman commander was pulled from his thoughts and looked up when he heard her screaming. He instantly realised who it was. He immediately turned and ran back to the court, ignoring the pain in his legs and his aching muscles. As he got closer, he could hear the counting and the sound of the whipping, mixed with the choked gasps from Jesus. 
  "Triginta duo...Triginta tres... Triginta quattor..."
   Over thirty lashes already. Far more than what was written in Pilate's order, and he had a feeling they were not just using a whip or a cane either. The metal clatter made him fear the worse.  When he reached the courtyard, he froze up at the brutal scene in front of him.  It was just as bad as he had feared. They were using the scourge. The bleeding Jesus was already lying on the ground, while the two soldiers took turns whipping him. Jesus happened to turn his head just as Atticus stepped into the courtyard and for a brief moment, the two men looked right at each other.  Atticus loud voice suddenly echoed over the whole courtyard:  "STOP! ENOUGH!"  The soldiers immediately stopped what they were doing and everyone in the courtyard turned and looked at the Roman commander.  As he tried to march over to them, the pain after running with his aching legs, resulted more in a stiff, clumsy limp that was less than impressive, but it still made most of the soldiers back away. He walked right up to them, while still making sure not to step in the blood on the ground.  "Stop it!" He shouted at them once more.  He looked around at all the soldiers that were all staring at their angry commander.  "You idiots... do none of know you know how to read?"  He turned to the soldier at the desk, then the two carrying out the punishment. His tone was harsh:  "You were just supposed to punish him, not scourge him to death!"  The younger soldier holding the whip smirked at him:  "Maybe you shouldn't have left then..." The soldier raised his eyebrow and added with contempt in his voice: "Commander."  Atticus glared at him for a moment.  "I'll deal with you later, soldier."  He looked down at the barely conscious Jesus, who was covered in bleeding stripes. He was hardly able to pant from the extreme pain caused by deep wounds from the scourge. When Jesus opened his eyes and looked up at Atticus, a deep sadness suddenly hit him. A sadness mixed with guilt. By walking away, he had made it worse. Atticus closed his eyes and sighed  before turning to the soldiers:  "Unshackle him."  When the soldiers just looked at each other and nothing happened, Atticus raised his voice:  "I said unshackle him! Do it!"   When the soldiers had carried Jesus out of the prison courtyard, Atticus remained frozen where he was and stared at all the blood on the ground. It was splattered over almost the whole centre of the courtyard, collecting in little cracks and holes here and there.  Atticus shifted restlessly a few times and let out a breath of frustration before looking up towards the sky.  What have I done?  The sound of someone sobbing and crying made him turn and look towards the colonnade. John was standing by one of the pillars with Jesus' mother, holding his arm around her and Mary Magdalene had sunk to her knees and cried leaned up against Mother Mary.   Atticus walked over to them and carefully laid his hand on John's shoulder, making the Apostle turn his head. Atticus looked at John then Mother Mary.  "I'm sorry..." He said and there was a real sadness in his deep, raspy voice.  When Mary Magdalene saw who it was, she stood up, leaned herself on Atticus and cried against his leather chest armour. He did not know where to put his hands at first, but then gently grabbed onto her shoulders.  "He's still alive. For now..." He said, not knowing what other words he could possibly comfort or encourage them with.  Noise and laughter were suddenly heard down by the stables. Atticus lifted his head and gazed down the colonnade.  "I have to go..."  With his hands still on her shoulders, he moved Mary Magdalene over to John who put his arm around her as well. Then, after a moment of hesitation, Atticus gently laid his hand on Mother Mary's arm, before stepping past them and continuing down the colonnade. John watched the Roman commander as he walked away. He could tell a heavy sadness lay on the large man's wide shoulders.   Walking away, Atticus saw one of the Pharisees, President Shimon, standing further down the colonnade, leaned up against one of the pillars. He looked up as Atticus approached, but seemed unbothered by his presence. He looked into Atticus' eyes.  "You are not the only one who failed, Commander..." He said and let out a deep sigh.  They both looked and felt equally miserable and defeated. Shimon continued:  "I devoted all my time and my whole mission in the Sanhedrin towards reforming and looking over unnecessarily cruel and rigid laws and making sure that punishments like this were not carried out."  He sighed again and looked down on the ground:  "A lot of good that did..."  He looked up at Atticus.  "The only thing I achieved last night, was getting myself thrown out of the assembly."  He took his headdress off in a sweeping gesture. The Pharisee in front of Atticus was probably almost fifteen years younger, but his hair and beard were both very grey, making him appear older and wiser at a first glance, but he still had quite a young face. Atticus studied him for a moment and said:  "Well... it means that at least you stood up for what is true. Even if no one else did."  Atticus was about to walk away when Shimon asked:  "Do you believe he is The One?"  Atticus looked at him with his brows furrowed. Shimon calmly looked him in the eyes.  "You are a Jew aren't you, Commander..?"  Atticus left the question unanswered, then let out a tired sigh.  "I have seen a few Messiahs over the years..." He said. "Most of them ended in a Roman prison."  "But the Nazarene is different... no?" Shimon asked.  With his back turned and his eyes still closed, Atticus waited so long to answer, that he almost forgot the question. Then, realising his own disappointment, he said:  "Not as different as we had hoped..."   As Atticus reached the stables, he soon discovered what the laughing and noise was all about. The soldiers from the prison court had dumped the wounded Jesus on a barrel in the corner, hung a piece of red cloth around his shoulders and placed a wreath of thorned branches around his head. Now they were dancing around him and mocking him as the king of the Jews. Atticus showed up just as one of the soldiers hit Jesus over the head with a Roman baton.  This time he did not hesitate. Atticus took his own baton from his belt, marched over to the soldier and hit him across the side of his helmet, hard enough to knock him off his feet. The soldier tumbled against the wall and dropped to his knees and the rest of them instantly quieted down and took a step back.  Atticus pointed at Jesus' head with the baton.  "Who did this?"  Noone answered him.  Atticus stuck the baton under his arm and walked over to Jesus to try and take the thorned wreath off him himself, but one of the long, sharp thorns cut up the palm of his hand. He pulled away with a slight gasp. The wreath sat too tightly on Jesus' head and there were too many thorns. He would need pliers to get it off. The soldiers sniggered behind his back and Atticus turned around and glared at all of them.  "I want to see all of you in the governor's office tomorrow. None of you are fit for this duty."  His tone was sharp, but his voice calm. Next, he stepped out into the courtyard and called for Marcus and the men under his own command. A few moments later, his men showed up in perfect formation. Ready to escort Jesus’ back to Pilate. When they left again, Atticus walked just behind them.  One of the soldiers from the prison spit after him.  "Halfbreed..."  Atticus slowly turned and looked him in the eyes:  "I'd tread very carefully if I were you, soldier... or this Jew will send you to the salt mines."  After a warning glance at the other soldiers, who dared not move or reply, he turned and followed his men back to the governor's office.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Pilate's Verdict:
    When Pilate once again came out of the governor's office, he was surprised to see all the soldiers looking so tensed and anxious. His confusion only increased when he saw Atticus standing by the wall with his eyes closed and hanging his head. He looked defeated and almost... ashamed. He looked up when Pilate approached and nodded to his soldiers.  The two soldiers in the front stepped aside and revealed the badly beaten Jesus, who was being held up and supported by two other soldiers. A look of horror came over the young governor's face when he saw the preacher covered in wounds. He looked around at the soldiers.   "Nowhere did it say to use the scourge... Did no one read the order?"  None of the soldiers answered him.  Pilate turned around and glared at Atticus:  "And where were you while they almost whipped him to death?" He hissed.  Atticus did not answer, he just looked off in another direction. There was a tense look around his mouth. He did blame himself for allowing this to happen.  The young governor kept glaring at the commander.  "I'm not especially happy with you lately." He added. Atticus closed his eyes bowed his head slightly. Pilate's expression softened as he turned to Jesus and gestured for him to come closer.  "Come here, my friend..."  He gently grabbed onto Jesus' arm to support him and led him to the top of the stairs so that the crowd could see him. He was surprised that Jesus was still standing.  "Is this not enough?" Pilate asked the crowd with anger in his voice as he gestured towards the bloodied Jesus. Then he raised his voice and shouted:  "Is this not enough? How much blood do you thirst for?"  It did not matter what Pilate said, or that Jesus had almost been beaten beyond recognition and was barely aware of where he was, Caiaphas still only demanded one thing:  "Crucify him!"  Once again, the crowd joined in:  "Crucify him! Crucify him!"  Atticus looked out over the crowd with a mix of anger and despair. Most of these people did not even know Jesus, they had not seen his so-called miracles or heard any of His words. They hated Him just because everyone else did and because their religious leaders told them to hate Him.  This was what Caiaphas had been hoping for. To create enough chaos among the people to make it a problem Rome would have to deal with.  Atticus saw Jesus' mother, John and Mary Magdalene standing near the pillars on the side again. His closest family, following him, even now.  As he saw them there, it hit him that he never knew what happened to his own family. He knew what had happened to his father and his uncle, now a very old man, still lived in Rome, but his mother? Or Nadir and his grandmother..? The friends he grew up with?  Atticus took his eyes off the crowd for a moment, as the thoughts filled his already troubled mind.  Did Dibhlayim know? Or had he too completely lost contact with the world he once came from? He had never mentioned anything, and Atticus had never asked him.  Why did he never ask? Atticus had always just accepted what happened and did what he was told. He had never seen his homeland again, never heard from anyone in his family and he himself had never even written a letter. He had had just left everything behind. Eventually also leaving behind the traditions he grew up with and his religion. Everything that had shaped his early life. Every last connection to his people.  He looked up and saw Jesus’ mother standing there with an empty stare, like she was not able to bare much more of what was happening.  John had closed his eyes, and Mary Magdalene had also covered her ears, so she did not have to hear the people calling for Jesus to be executed. He could see the pain on her face.  He thought of her gentle gesture last night, how she had touched him and leaned her head on him outside the prison, almost like she wanted to comfort him. Atticus wished he could have returned the favour, put his arms around her and comfort her in her pain... but she was too far away.  The crowd kept shouting and demanding that Jesus be crucified. So much hatred for one man, who had really only done good.  As he looked at the Pharisees, he again felt the intense dislike he had long felt against religious leaders. These so-called priest who mostly just cared about their positions and political influence, instead of actually caring about the people in their congregations. Who bickered about unimportant details and focused on unnecessarily rigid laws that had made it impossible for Atticus even to worship God, back when he still had faith.  Only Shimon and his grandfather Hilel were different. Shimon was also back in the crowd, and he was looking at the other Pharisees the same way Atticus was.  Atticus turned and glanced at Jesus and could not help feeling irritated. He had really hoped that Jesus would also be different, but Jesus seemed to have resigned to being executed and He had not really achieved much among the religious leaders - except making them hate Him.Another person who had come into Atticus' life, only to disappear again and leave him worse off than before. Atticus curved his lip and snorted at Him. This was the very reason he generally did not allow anyone into his life. It was better to be alone and rely only on yourself.   The young governor also looked out over the crowd again and now Pilate had reached his absolute limit with Caiaphas. Despite his Commander's earlier warnings, Pilate cursed under his breath and marched down a few of the steps before Atticus could react. The young man's voice was full of anger and frustration and sounded deeper than usual:  "Why are you so determined to see this man dead? Is it because the people would rather listen to his teachings and not yours?" Pilate spat. "Or are you afraid that people would rather donate to his ministry?"  Caiaphas smirked.  "You know little of our people and our sacred traditions, Governor..."  "And how well do you know your people, High priest Caiaphas? When was the last timeyou left your palace and actually spoke to your people?"  "Says the man living in a gold palace himself..."  The High Priest replied and took another step closer. Pilate also took a step closer.  "At least I listen to the people. Maybe you should try that for change."  Caiaphas sniggered and gestured towards the crowd.  "I think the people have spoken loud enough, Governor..."  "Your hired mob, more like it," Pilate huffed.  The argument got more and more heated, with Pilate and Caiaphas both screaming at each other. Someone in the crowd threw a sandal at Pilate. It bounced off his chest armour and Pilate did not even flinch. The young Governor was already more than halfway down the stairs, and he had his hand on his sword. Pilate hated Caiaphas.  Atticus’s heart was beating so fast he could feel his own pulse in his ears. Pilate was dangerously close to the crowd and in his anger he was only focused on the High priest in front of him. Most the Roman guards were too far off to the side and the ones in front of the stairs were busy trying to control the citizens.  Jesus was right. Atticus did care about Pilate, and he was not just worried that someone would attack him, which right now, could happen in a second. Slaying the high priest in broad daylight, in front of hundreds of witnesses, would not only be the end of Pilate, but also the end of the peaceful days in Judea - and a definite end to Atticus's own career.  Though right now, his career was not his main concern. It was seeing the man he had treated like a son, potentially making the last mistake of his life.  Atticus did not care how it looked; he marched down the stairs, walked right up to Pilate and with a firm grip on his upper arm, he proceeded to half drag and half lifting him up the stairs.  "Atticus..."  Atticus looked into the younger man's eyes and growled:  "You are not getting yourself killed on my watch."  Pilate opened his mouth to say something, but Atticus tightened his grip on Pilate's arm and cut him off:  "Don't argue with me!"After forcing the Governor up the stairs, Atticus turned around and called out:  "Soldiers! Control the crowd!"  Immediately, the soldiers on the sides moved in and formed a tight wall with their shields, to keep the temple guards and the crowd from reaching the stairs. Only Caiaphas and the other Pharisees were left by the stairs, cut off from the rest of the crowd.   When they reached the top of the steps, Pilate managed to pull himself free of Atticus' grip and stepped away from him. Atticus suddenly stumbled and nearly lost his balance, but he managed to grab onto the pillar. He had to catch his breath afterwards and he put his hand up to his chest and coughed a few times, like someone had knocked the wind out of him.  Pilate turned around:  "What's with you..? Are you alright?" He was still annoyed, but also clearly concerned. Though he was hurt by the fact that he could not trust Atticus as much as he had thought, he did still care about the old soldier. Atticus had seemed unwell last night already. As he went over to put his hand on Atticus' arm, Atticus pushed his hand away.  "What do you care?" He snapped. "You don't trust me anyway."  Atticus also sounded annoyed. He straightened up and took a deep breath, then looked out over the courtyard. Caiaphas was still standing on the steps, riling up the crowd even more.   Pilate took a step closer to Jesus and grabbed onto His arm. Then he asked Him again in Latin:  "Tell me, are you really the King of the Jews?"  Jesus studied Pilate's face, but did not reply. There was almost a look of indifference on Jesus' face. Atticus watched them both carefully and listened to every word. Pilate was getting frustrated now.  "Preacher, why won't you talk to me? Don't you know I have the power to set you free or..." He paused and furrowed his brows. "Or the power to crucify you?"  Jesus still did not answer, and the governor wanted Him to know how serious the situation was.  "The people who handed you over to me... your own people want you dead! I don't know what you have done for them to hate you this much, but I have the power over life and death. Do you understand?"  Again, Jesus just calmly looked at him, then glanced over at Atticus before he finally answered:  "You have no power over me, Governor, unless it has been given to you from above. Therefore... the sin of those who handed me over to you, is greater than anything you two can do."  Atticus smiled. He could not help but to feel sort of proud of Jesus. His calm, defiant tone and His determination while talking to the Governor. Most men would have been begging for mercy by now and most men would not still be standing after the abuse Jesus had suffered.   Pilate closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. He turned his back on them and put his hand up over his mouth. There was an immense weight resting on the young governor's shoulders. Behind him was the crowd, demanding only one thing - the blood of an innocent man. He looked at Jesus, the peaceful preacher who had done nothing to deserve this kind of punishment. Then again... claiming to be king was treason and if Pilate did not act, it could cost him his own life. The Pharisees knew this and were planning to use it against Pilate,  He thought of all the people he was responsible for. The people in Judea had been enjoying a peaceful time, without devastating wars or riots. If Caiaphas started a riot - and he would - a lot of innocent blood would be spilled.  His wife was watching from the window. She had begged him not to condemn Jesus, as she sensed He was not just any preacher. She would have to flee or go into hiding if Pontius were arrested or killed and Atticus... a soldier brought back from retirement. The man who had been there for him more often than his own father. He had not asked to be pulled into this. Now he might have to risk his life to put down a riot.   Pilate said nothing for a moment, but then seemed to have made up his mind. He walked over to one of the servants and whispered something to him. Atticus could not make out what was being said, but when the servants brought out a bowl and a cloth, and the Governor first held his hands up in front of the people, then had the servant pour water over his hands in full view of the crowd, Atticus knew exactly what was happening.  Pilate was handing Jesus over to the crowd.  After Pilate had dried off his hands, he called out to the crowd:  "I wash my hands of this! I will have no part in this man's death. This is all your doing."  He turned to his once trusted commander, but without bringing himself to look at him.  "Atticus... see to that they get what they want." He paused, as if to brace himself, then said: "Take Him to Golgotha."  Atticus closed his eyes as he felt the last bit of hope die inside his chest. At the same time he cursed himself for having dared to hope that it would turn out any other way. He turned and looked at Jesus:  "I'm sorry..." While Pilate waited for Atticus's men to take Jesus away, he wrote a sign that said Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews in three languages. He held it up when he was done, to really rub it in the face of Caiaphas and his supporters.  "Don't write that!" Yanni, the other scumbag yelled out. "That is only what He called Himself. He is not our king!"  Pilate snorted defiantly and answered in Latin:  "Quod scripsi, scripsi!"  What I have written, I have written.  If he could not shut Caiaphas and his hyenas up, at least he could get one final insult in. He turned around and gave the sign to Atticus.  "Take this with you, Atticus."  Atticus reluctantly took the sign from the young governor, who still avoided looking him in the eye. They were not on good terms with each other at the moment.  Up in the window of the Praetorium, Claudia turned her back and brought her hands up to her face.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The Procession:
    As Atticus walked towards the gates of the Antonia Fortress, Mary Magdalene ran up to him and grabbed onto his arms.  "Atticus... please... don't do this!"  He ignored her and tried to push her away, but Mary clung to him even harder and pleaded:  "Commander, please..."  John and Mother Mary were following close behind them. Atticus looked over at the young Apostle:  "John... take them home. None of you want to see this."  Mary was getting increasingly hysterical, so Atticus did the only thing he could think of at the moment. He let go of her arm, laid his hand on her cheek and looked into her eyes.  "Woman... go home."  It was not an order. He was pleading with her. She looked into his dark eyes and for a moment, Mary Magdalene was tempted to do as he asked. A tear rolled down her face, but she tried to keep her voice steady as she said:  "I have to follow him..."  With his hand still on her cheek, he studied her face for a moment, then nodded. He was not going to win this battle; they were going to follow Jesus until the end. He could not help but admire them for it, but he also wondered if they were really prepared for how bad it would get.   At the gates, Atticus mounted his big white sturdy horse, while the prisoners were being loaded up with the crosses for their execution. Most men only had to carry the crossbar over their shoulders, but Jesus, who was in worse shape than either of them, had to carry the full cross.  The crowd was throwing rocks at the soldiers and prisoners. They were not the big rocks the Pharisees used to stone people with, but they were still big enough to hurt you. Most of the stones bounced off the helmets and shields of the soldiers, but Atticus had left his helmet at the Praetorium. His mind had been all over the place.  One of the rocks hit Atticus on the side of the head. It hurt pretty bad, and he had to steady himself for a moment before sitting up straight in the saddle again. He could feel how the blood started trickling down the side of his face, but there was not much he could do about it. His job was to lead the procession to Golgotha - where Jesus would be crucified.  High priest Caiaphas rode by on his donkey, with a content smirk on his face, just as Atticus was wiping some of the blood off his face. Atticus glared at him. It would not have been Caiaphas who threw the stone at him, but he was probably happy with the result. Atticus kept himself from making a comment about an ass riding an ass. He did not want to sink to that level.   They had not gotten far before one soldier gave Jesus a hard push in the side, making him lose his balance, drop the cross and fall. The way he landed, on top of the heavy cross, knocked the wind out of him and Jesus had to struggle to catch his breath. Some of the soldiers immediately took out their whips to force him to his feet again, but Atticus put an end to it by placing himself and the horse between them and Jesus.  "These men are already condemned." He said and looked around at the soldiers. "The next one of you who whips the prisoners... will receive the same treatment tomorrow. Understood?"  He turned the horse around and raised his voice:  "Am I being clear?"  None of the soldiers dared to say or do anything, most of them not even daring to look up.   As they were about to enter the streets of Jerusalem, people no longer remained along the side of the road, but started flocking around him, the soldiers and the prisoners.  When Atticus looked around at the  crowd, he realised that he recognised many of them. They had been here when Jesus entered the city earlier this week. The very same people who had welcomed Jesus as their king and Messiah, chanting and singing and laying their clothes down on the ground for him, were now spitting on him, cursing him and trying to hit him as he walked by. Atticus felt his own bitterness towards people intensify. People could turn on you or forget you so easily... Something only made even more clear after how Pilate had treated him today.  Whatever glimmer of hope and joy Atticus had felt a few days ago, it was definitely gone now.   The streets of Jerusalem had never been this crowded before. Onyx, his large white stallion, was brave and well trained and usually calm, but now he started grunting and throwing his head up as there was suddenly people coming at him from all directions, some of them were throwing things and there was less and less space to move around.  Atticus urged his horse on, and people still got out of the way, but it was getting harder to keep the people away from the prisoners. One of the men in the crowd, the one who had been screaming the loudest for Jesus to be crucified, the father of the murdered woman, stepped forward and hit Jesus over the head with his walking stick.  Atticus had already threatened him once, now he gave the man a hard kick in the chest, making the man tumble out of the way, but it was too little too late.  The hard whack over the head was too much for the already exhausted Jesus. He lost his balance and dropped to his knees, unable to hold on to the heavy cross. When Jesus fell, so did the cross. It tipped over and hit the hind leg of Atticus' white horse. The horse gave off a pained shriek and tried to jump forward, but there was no room, and the startled animal lost its footing on the uneven cobblestones. There was nothing Atticus could do. The horse fell, with Atticus still on its back.  The impact on the stones was hard and when the horse nearly rolled over, Atticus ended up being squeezed against the stone steps outside a shop. He cried out in pain as his hip was pressed against the edge of the steps. Pain shot through his body when his armour and the handle of his dagger dug into his ribs.  The horse grunted and threw its head around and tried to get on its feet again, but there was hardly any room for it to get up and Atticus was heavy. People were pressing in from all sides, someone even stumbled over the horse. Every time the horse thrashed around; Atticus' leg scraped against the cobblestones.  Cassius, an older legionnaire, eventually took out his whip and used it to try and drive the people back and create some space around Jesus and the commander. Atticus had given them a strict order not to whip the prisoners, but the crowd was getting out of hand. Cassius poor eyesight made it hard for him to judge distance in certain angles. He did not realise how close the commander actually was, and the recoil of the whip ended up hitting Atticus in the face where he was lying, still stuck under his horse.  In the midst of all the chaos, Atticus heard the desperate cries of a woman, and he recognised her voice:  "No...no! Please...! Let me get through!"  Mary Magdalene was being pushed back by the soldiers as she tried to get to Jesus, but Jesus' mother managed to slip out between them and ran over to her son. Atticus was at just the right angle to see her drop to her knees next to him and reach out to hold him and try to shield him from the people almost stepping on him. Like any mother protecting her child.  "My son! My son... I am here..." She caressed his face and held on to his shoulders. "I am here..."  Jesus looked into his mother's eyes and placed his hand on her cheek.  "Eema... don't be afraid... just trust... I will make everything new..."  Then Jesus gathered all the strength he had left, put his arm around the cross and got up on his knees. Without hesitating, Marcus, the younger legionnaire, leaned down and lifted the heavy cross himself, so that Jesus could stand up.  Atticus could watch the whole scene from where he was lying, and he admired Jesus' strength. He was also proud of Marcus, for showing compassion towards a condemned man.   When Jesus got up again, it was like the horse was encouraged as well. With one last effort, the horse lifted its head, raised itself up and slammed its front hooves down on the cobblestones, then managed to get up.  In pain and out of breath, suddenly being yanked off the ground when the horse got up gain, Atticus lost his balance and nearly fell forward out of the saddle, but a strong hand landed on his shoulder and held him up. He turned his head and looked into Jesus' blood-streaked face.  Beaten, bloody, exhausted, with the heavy cross  digging into one shoulder and he still held out his other arm to keep Atticus from falling off the horse.  For a brief moment, the two men looked at each other and for some reason, Atticus remembered something Jesus had said during his sermon at the Chorazin plateau:   Blessed are the merciful for they shall receive mercy.   Looking into Jesus' eyes, it was like he could hear the words as clearly as if Jesus had spoken to them now. More than that, he could feel them, but he did not understand why. There was nothing merciful about today or this situation.  When Jesus broke the eye contact, Atticus straightened up in the saddle and both men took a deep breath before turning their gaze forward and continuing their journey.   Outside of the city, when they reached the steeper, rocky parts, Jesus fell a third time. One of the younger soldiers whipped him to try and force him to his feet again. When Atticus saw it, he rode over and grabbed the soldiers' wrist as he raised his hand to whip Jesus again.  "Stop it, you idiot!" He shouted and tightened his grip on the soldiers wrist. "I told you not to whip the prisoners!"  Atticus gestured towards Jesus.  "Can't you see he's exhausted?"  After letting go, he turned around to the other soldiers:  "Get someone to help him carry it."  Marcus, the young, very dark-haired legionnaire looked around and then turned to a man with darker complexion, who seemed well built and strong and asked him to help Jesus carry the cross. The man did not seem to understand, so Marcus repeated the question. When Atticus heard the man ask Marcus something in Greek, he turned his horse around and came over to them.  The man Marcus had spoken to was as dark as some of the Arabs and the Berbers in Atticus' homeland had been. Like his own mother. Atticus surprised them all by suddenly speaking to the man in Greek. Marcus did not know much Greek, but he did hear the commander address the man as adelphoi, "brother".  The man listened carefully to what Atticus said and seemed to give in to his request. He saw Jesus lying on the ground and there was a look of real compassion on the man's face before he looked up at the Roman Commander and nodded.  The man had two young boys with him. Marcus and Atticus watched him lean down and tell the two boys something, before kissing them both on the cheek and ushering them over to a slim, beautiful woman who waited nearby - his wife. Atticus and Marcus both felt a bit guilty for pulling the man away from his family, but he seemed understanding and had compassion with the beaten and bloody prisoner on the ground.  Atticus watched how Marcus and the foreign man both helped Jesus get up before they picked up the cross and the man laid it over his own shoulder, while also half carrying and supporting the wounded Jesus.  Atticus turned to the young black-haired soldier:  "Marcus, make sure no one else whips the prisoners!"  Marcus bowed his head.  "Yes, Commander."  "And Marcus..." Atticus paused to catch his breath. "Let no one touch Jesus' family either... if they want to stay close... then let them."  Marcus nodded at his words and glanced over at Jesus' Mother and the young man and woman at her side. He looked at his commander. He could see the blood running down the side of Atticus' face and the commander seemed to be in pretty rough shape. Though he was strong and fit, Atticus was not the youngest anymore and falling with the horse must have taken quite a toll on him. He was surprised that Atticus was not more hurt than this.  "Commander... are you alright?"  Atticus did not answer right away, but then nodded absentmindedly.  "I'll be fine..." After that, Atticus rode on ahead, to make sure the soldiers at Golgotha prepared what was needed. He also needed a moment alone, to calm his mind and try and catch his breath - to prepare himself, for what he was about to witness.  When he reached the plateau, getting off his horse was a painful experience. His body hurt and he tried hard to hide that he was limping, by supporting himself on his horse when he walked over to the soldiers. Not all soldiers were as noble as Cassius and Marcus. He did not want to risk any of them getting an attitude, or start being disrespectful if they noticed that he was injured.  The pain made his mind hazy, and his thoughts started drifting off again. He could not wait for this day to be over. He sighed deeply and let his shoulders sink. To move away from Judea, leave everything behind and forget all of this ever happened... However, deep in his heart he knew, that Jesus' words and the effect they had had on him and others, all the things he had witnessed... it would stay with him forever.   His aching body would heal, but the pain in his soul would never heal. His heart was always going to judge him for what he did and did not do on this day. That would be his punishment to bear for the rest of his life.    My dear friend Nico, 
  I wish I could write to you about happier things, but my time in Judea has not been of much joy lately. I fear my health is failing and I feel so lost...

I do not wish to return to Rome, but I cannot stay in Judea. I have a few friends here and some loyal men in my command, but the Romans treat me with suspicion, because I am a half-breed. Even Pilate makes jokes at my expense. His arrogance annoys me. I have failed in teaching him humility.

I am not sure I want to return to Gaul either. Though I had some peace and freedom there, I have always felt at home in Galilea, but being there is a painful reminder that I am separated from my people. By being a soldier.

As I feared, Jesus of Nazareth has become a political issue, and I fear it will not end well for him. Like so many others before him. Even though no one was quite like him. I long for this to be over soon. I am tired.

I long to visit you again in Sepphoris. Your friendship has always brought me great joy.

I do hope to see you again soon.
 
  Atticus