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The first day of the week, Mary
Magdalene came early, while it
was still dark, to the sepulchre.
[John 20:1]
****************************
Saturnus crouched in the dark.
The smell of damp grass and
dew soaked leaves came to his
nostils. The second rumbling quake
had come an hour or so, ago.
The first had been just been
three days before, and in mid
afternoon. There hadn't been
much damage except, so they
said, to the Jewish temple in
the middle of the city.
Saturnus was a Roman guard,
and had been present when
the three Priests' guards had
come back to the Jewish rulers
and told them about the tomb,
of that scandalous Nazarene,
being vandalized. He and
a fellow Roman guard had listened
intently: glancing at each other
with curious eyes. The whole
story was incredulous, and
Saturnus had decided to investigate
for himself an hour later:
following the changing of the
guards. So he had walked through
the cool, damp early morning
toward the hills and where
the tomb of that Jew had been
placed, and guarded so securely.
Boredom, and a little curiosity
had spurned him on.
The Jews were such a
ridiculous, motley group of people;
Saturnus shook his head,
and chuckled to himself as
he crouched in the dark:
watching the lone woman walking
slowly along the dark road shrouded
by overhanging trees.
Saturnus longed to be back
in Italy, and he dispised Jerusalem.
He had joined the Roman
army at sixteen, and after
six years, Saturnus was a loyal soldier.
He thought, like all the
other soldiers in his band, that anyone
who was not a Roman was sub-
human, and not worthy of
any respect or compassion:
a perspective slave, or creature
to be used for his own pleasure.
He pulled a clump of
berries from a nearby bush,
and popped them into his
mouth. They weren't like the
luscious fruit of Italy, but
they would do. He squinted
in the darkness through the
trees: crouching like a hungry
lion.
Saturnus had just reached
the place of the Jewish
tombs when he had spotted
her: one of those silly women
who had followed that Nazarene
around Jerusalem, and even
to his crucifixion, like a dumb
cow.
And this particular cow was
young, and had a quite a lovely
face and shape. Saturnus had recognized
her in the small light of the
oil lamp that she was carrying.
What a delightful surprise!
A sweet little cherry to top his
hour of leave from duty! Saturnus
stuffed another clump of
berries into his mouth, and
smiled. And he had strolled
up here just on a curious whim!
What a precious little gift
suddenly in his hand... the gods
were surely blessing him, tonight!
He could hear other womens'
voices in the distance but
this particular girl had wondered
on ahead of them, perhaps
due to her much younger,
stronger legs. She seemed
so preoccupied in her own
thoughts, that she wasn't
paying much attention to
her surroundings: lonely
hills in the wee hours of the
early morning, when the friendly
rays of the bright sun hadn't
reached the dark expanse of
sky.
Why would such a young, shapely
girl be wondering about on her
own in the midst of hilly tombs,
and caves, in the dark hours
of the waning night: alone,
and unafraid? Obviously she
was coming to visit the tomb
of that clown of a Nazarene:
weeping, and moaning all along
the way. But why hadn't she
waited till mid-morning, when
other of her folk were nearby?
What a silly lass, indeed. What
did she think: that clownish
prophet, now quite torn apart,
bloodied and dead, would
protect her?
What a silly, stupid cow!
Saturnus chuckled again. He
would overtake her quite easily:
dragging her off the darkened
road, and pleasuring himself
with her hidden
treasures. She would learn
never to go this way, again,
or trust in any dead prophet's
incipid promises.
Saturnus slowly arose from
his crouching position; his
muscular thighs had not a
drop of slowness in them but
he didn't wish to make a sudden
sound in the bushes, and ruin
such a precious moment. The
girl might come out of her
reverie, and run screaming
into the night: back toward
her mourning fellows.
And he would miss his chance.
Smiling broadly, and even beginning
to salivate in anticipation, Saturnus
quietly stood from his crouching
position.
And broke his handsome nose.
Wincing in pain, Saturnus
grabbed his bleeding, cracked nose with one
hand, and reached in the
darkness with the other: ready
to defend himself against
whomever or whatever had
attacked him.
What was this?
It was rock solid, and gleamed
in the darkness.
Saturnus forgot his bloodied
nose for a moment, and began
pawing disconcertedly at the
metal thing: groping like a
blind man, and muttering in
frightened horror.
It seemed to be the edge of
a blade....a sword! No! How
could this be?
Saturnus glanced upward in
disbelief. What he saw brought
him weakly to his knees: like
a childish tot, or cornered doe.
It was surely the very edge of
a sword. The gleaming enornous
length of it reached into the
early morning clouds. The sword
appeared to be made of pure gold,
and was doubled edged: huge
tiger-tooth shaped on either
side, and gleaming gold.
Saturnus kept his bloodied
face toward the ground:
waiting to be slashed and
mutilated by the humongous
sword. His scream stayed
in his throat like vomit: the
vision of what he had seen
holding the sword etching in
his memory forever.
A few moments passed.
Nothing happened. All was
quiet as it was, only now the
first few streaks of early dawn
were painting the sky
high above: strips of yellow,
and orange, and red.
And the vision, and the
double-edged sword were
gone.
Saturnus slowly arose once
again. This time his knees were
weak and trembling, and
his head swam with nauseating
dizziness. He bent over and
retched in the bushes. Then
he straightened up only to
have to bend over, and retch
again. Lying back on the
ground, and ripping off a piece
of his tunic to wrap his bloodied
nose, Saturnus tried to think
of a good story to tell his
fellow soldiers when he was
able to make it back to camp.
They would merely laugh at
him: accusing him of getting
drunk somewhere and running
into a scuffle with one of those
rebellious bands of Jewish
troublemakers up in the hill
country.
He would think of something.
Surely he would never tell
someone what had really
happened.
No one would believe him.
They might even accuse him
of losing his mind, and berate
him. No. He would have to
tell them that he had been
ambushed in the night while
returning to camp, and would
request permission to round up the
usual suspects.
Yes.
That would do.
Saturnus lay there: keeping
his eyes tightly closed. He was afraid
of seeing that vision again.
Perhaps he had cracked his
head on a tree trunk and
had lost consciousness for a
moment: his mind inventing
some horrid dream.
Yes. That's what it was.
Only, Saturnus had no idea that
his dream had been no
tree trunk.
It was the
Archangel Michael.
*****************************
For an angel of the LORD
descended from heaven and
came and rolled back the stone,
and sat upon it. His appearance
was like lightening, and his
raiment white as snow. [Matthew 28:
2-3].
Copyright 2015.
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