Life in this world is so cheap that often it has no price at all. But here it does. Here in Rome in the arena everything has a precise cost. All has been calculated by he who pays, in a weighted gamble that such entertainments will bring him to the fore of public life and secure him a post in some province from which he can wring far greater wealth, from extortion and bribery.
And it’s perhaps not the best system for running an empire, but these are relatively early days for Rome. Over time the Romans will improve, bringing sanitation and trade, education and engineering to the places they conquer. Bringing a paid-for peace, the pax Romana. For the moment, though, there is no pax, just taxes and crosses.
All this is, of course, irrelevant to the andabatae; they may not even know who has sponsored their deaths today. They are almost upon each other now. They can feel the change of pressure when the other cuts the air. They can hear from the crowd that they must be close. They crouch and duck as best as blind men can. They stab and slash and try not to puke. They know that one of them at least is about to die and can only do their amateurish handicapped best to try not to be him. But none of that much matters, except to them. And to the Roman mob, who, of course, find this hilarious; who wouldn’t? The sand will be raked back ready for the next combat and the world will hold one less person, that’s all. The death of a single man will never change much.
Four Months before the Crucifixion
As was tradition for the kings of Israel, first came the salutation and then the coronation. Cephas made the proclamation, since he was to be chamberlain, the holder of the keys of the kingdom and protector of the King’s person. Cephas was hard as carved Judaean rock; Yeshua’s red right hand.
The inner circle knew, of course, that something was to come. But Cephas’s words still fluttered in the hearts of the other followers and devotees, like a bird trapped in the Temple: full of tremble and wonder. Can it be? Yeshua — already healer, exorcist and prophet — now declares himself king as well.
The news caused nervous rejoicing. It even elated the Zealots in the camp, of whom there were many, including Simon the Zealot and Judas Sicarii. For although such rebels were inclined to be republican, they were in favour of urgent and violent action against Rome and its collaborators, and a coronation meant no going back. A king could be a rallying cry. A rival ruler is as good as a declaration of war.
Some whispered the words of the Sibylline Oracles: A holy king will come and reign over all the world — and then his wrath will fall on the people of Latium, and Rome will be destroyed to the ground. O God, send a stream of fire from Heaven, and let the Romans perish, each in his own house!
And others thought of the star prophecy: A star will stream forth from Jacob; a sceptre shall emerge from Israel. He will crush the skulls of Moab, and destroy all the sons of tumult.
Six days after Cephas’s salutation of Yeshua as king, as tradition dictated, the ceremony was held. The service was witnessed by a great throng of followers, who journeyed up to Mount Sion, the highest mountain in the region. And it might have been the highest in the world, for all those men knew of elsewhere.
James the Lesser, Cephas and Jochanan climbed to the very pinnacle with Yeshua. The others remained a little way below, from where they could see the coronation, framed against the blue of God’s sky.
The servants of one of Yeshua’s admirers — a wealthy Pharisee from the Golan highlands — had delivered a gifted gown of dazzling white Egyptian linen. It was without seams, woven in a single piece, like the tunic of the high priest. Kept wrapped in coarser cloths throughout its travels, when Yeshua pulled it on it was the whitest thing the assembly had ever witnessed. It seemed near other-worldly to those men of the dust and the scrub, to see something so unblemished: like a babe’s milk teeth; like a fish’s wet wide eye, in the moment it is landed; a thing that comes from elsewhere and will not last long in an untarnished state in this dry, invaded land.
Cephas produced an alabaster vial of precious oil, of the purest Indian spikenard, and Jochanan anointed Yeshua’s brow — with the cross of the sacred letter Tau — and wiped the sweet-scented unguent through his hair; and the air was filled with the fragrant perfume. When it was emptied, Cephas smashed the jar on the ground. Yeshua was now an ‘anointed one’ — a Messiah in Hebrew, a Christ in Greek — just as the kings Saul, Solomon and David had been called.
James then recited the coronation psalm: ‘I have enthroned my King, on Sion, my holy mountain.’ And he repeated the words from that psalm, of God’s adoption of all His kings: ‘You are my son,’ the LORD God said; ‘this day I become your father. Ask of me what you wilclass="underline" I will give you nations as your inheritance, the ends of the earth as your possession.’
From then on, like all the kings before him, Yeshua could be known by the royal title of Son of the LORD God. He would lead his people against the false rulers who oppress, and would shatter those foes like a jar of nard on a stone floor. Shards would fly to the corners of the earth, but the soothing balm would bring a new age of peace.
Then the followers built a tabernacle — a succah — a holy hut where the newly enthroned king could commune with Yahweh. It grew cold, up on the heights. And some wanted to head back down. Yeshua told them they should, but that he would remain to pray in the tabernacle.
Cephas said, ‘Master, it is good for us to be here, with you.’
But Yeshua told him to go down with the others and Cephas did as he was bade, partly glad to be out of the encompassing chill and the cloud that had descended.
When he, too, finally came down, Yeshua commenced the politics of rule. He named James the Lesser, Jochanan and Cephas as the triumvirate beneath him. Then he chose nine others of his closest disciples, who would sit with them on the dozen thrones of the Twelve Tribes. And he picked seven wise and just elders to be his judges. Finally he selected seventy from among the rest of the gathering, who would become his Sanhedrin council, once the kingdom was established. And he instructed them to go in pairs to the towns and cities of Judaea and Galilee and spread news of what had occurred: to tell the people that they had a king once more.
Twenty Years before the Crucifixion
The rock badger goes where it will. It fears neither man nor beast. It is said that a rock badger will take on a leopard and make it back away. The leopard would be near certain to win, but it senses that the price of victory might be too high. If blinded, it would lose in any case: a sightless predator is the walking dead. And God armed the rock badger with whetted claws, armoured it with unyielding skin and gave it bravery beyond human comprehension.
Saul followed the rock badger across the scrub. It trotted, stiff-legged, nose to the air not to the trail. No objective in mind. The badger travels on a whim, and if someplace it finds something to sustain it, then that place becomes where it was going all along.
Saul would have liked to be like the rock badger, equipped with that self-fulfilling wanderlust; fearless and strong. Not yet knowing that one day he would be. This Saul, the boy, was still slight, not puny, but not one to scare a single soul. Certainly not a rock badger. The badger looked back at Saul — neck bending round almost to its stumpy hindquarters — un-nervous, barely curious. Blank black eyes stared, the beast perhaps coming to a decision as to whether the energy expenditure required to lose Saul, or chase him away, would be worth the stealth benefits accruing to a solo hunter. Seemingly the badger decided that Saul could stay for now and set off once again, on its low-slung lope, towards it knew not where.