Miracle at Golgotha by Augustus (ink book reader .TXT) 📕

bread to go with their soup.”
Titus took the two bowls and inhaled the aroma of the steaming broth. It was boiled chicken with a hint of cumin, coriander, salt and other spices he could not identify. No one cooked better than his mother. Right before he stepped out of the room he turned to her. “Mother, if father is such a bad person, why do the two of you still remain together?”
She smiled at him warmly. “If I explain that to you, the soup you’re holding will get very cold. Now, take it out there.”
Titus had heard of this hell his mother had mentioned. He’d learned it from the holy men in Jerusalem. A place called Sheol was where all the sinners went after they died. Would this be his father’s resting place?
Titus handed a bowl of the broth to his father who immediately passed it to Barabbas. Titus took his father’s action to mean he wanted his guest sinners to be served first, so he handed the second bowl to Gestas.
“Ah, yes. Thank you, boy,” said Gestas.
Titus nodded and returned for his father’s bowl and the bread. As he walked away from the men, he heard one of them speak.
“He’s getting to be of age, Dimas. Maybe we should take him out with us. You know, to break him in.”
“Perhaps,” said Barabbas. “But look at what transpired today. One moment we’re stealing loot and in the next we’re taking a life.” The bearded man arched his eyebrows. “Is he ready for that?”
“Well said, my friend,” answered Dimas. “But I see the point I believe Gestas was trying to make. There comes a time when one must stop doing childish things and behave as men do.”
“Precisely my point,” said Gestas, “precisely.”
Titus heard the exchange between the men as if they had been talking directly to him. His hands began to tremble and his knees wobbled. When he entered the hut, his mother handed him the third bowl and the bread. Titus could not hold the bowl steady. The broth in the bowl shook as if an earth tremor had hit underneath his feet. His stomach tightened in knots. When he’d spilled about half the soup, his mother took the bread and bowl from him. He wanted to apologize or say something but his mind froze. His eyes followed her outside but he remained in the hut. He slumped onto a stool by the door and leaned against the wall.
His mother strode with heavy steps to where Dimas lay. The flames before him whipped around as if they felt his mother’s wrath approaching. She thrust the bowl and bread at him. He accepted them in silence. She stood above him and glowered down.
“Dimas, you know very well he heard your every word. You’ve scared him half to death! You should be ashamed of yourself. He’s still a young boy. And just so you know, he is never going to do the dastardly things you do. Do you hear me? Never!”
She didn’t wait for an answer. Titus saw her pivot on her heel and rush back into their home. He heard her muttering to herself as she brushed past him.
“They’ll never grow up.”
Titus hid from a clear view of the men but he peeked through a space between the wooden door and the wall. He could still hear them with unambiguous clarity.
“Well, now,” said Gestas, “I guess we know who runs this house, don’t we?”
Dimas leaned toward the fire and picked up a long stick with burning flames on one end. He stood and walked to Gestas’ location and waved the burning wand back and forth in front of Gestas’ face. Gestas leaned back. He shielded his face with his forearm as if Dimas was preparing to poke him with the torch.
“If I was a child,” said Dimas, “I’d burn your eyes out, right now, but I’m a man and I’ve learned to use restraint. You are lucky I’m in good spirits, my friend.” He paused and looked over his shoulder in his son’s direction. “As for Titus, I already had something special planned for him.”
Titus leaned away from the slit between the door and the wall, hoping his father had not caught him eavesdropping. He shuddered when he realized his manhood might soon be tested. Would he have to kill someone?

Chapter 3

It took Titus a long while to finally relax and stop the shudders that shot through him like pangs of pain. He really didn’t want to accompany his father and those two men to rob and maybe kill someone. He slept uneasily, tossing and turning until he slipped into a shallow state of consciousness. He was startled when he heard his mother call.
“Titus. Wake up, son. It’s time to go into the city. We have work to do.”
He knew what she was referring to. For the last two years his mother had worked in a small chamber in the Womens’ Court and cleaned animals destined for slaughter in the Temple. The actual slaughtering of goats, sheep and lambs was performed by the priests themselves. Titus never understood why his mother would agree to such an unsavory job.
Titus worked alongside other workers who were Jewish servants and slaves, cleaning floors and carrying in firewood into the Chamber of Wood for the sacrificial rituals. It wasn’t a high-paying job for either of them but it provided enough money to keep them from starving.
The sun’s rays came through the east-facing window and bounced off the opposite wall. Titus squinted as his eyes adjusted to the brightness. His head felt heavy. He hadn’t felt this weary since one night a year ago when he and his mother stayed awake with their Jewish friends to pray and await the descending to earth of the Messiah. The Messiah never did appear, only the light of a new day, not unlike this morning.
As Titus sat up, his mother brought him a piece of wheat bread and a hot bowl of the soup left over from the night before. He looked past her. “Where’s father and the men?”
“They’ve already left. I’m not sure where they went. It’s hard to tell with those three.”
When Titus finished eating his soup, he slipped his sandals on. He saw his mother putting things away as if she was hiding them. She wrapped their unused food in a blanket and tucked it under her bed; two planks of wood supported by stones. She covered her cooking utensils with firewood in a corner of the room.
When Titus had first seen her do this, he had been puzzled. “What are you doing?” he asked.
She gave him a serious glance. “We don’t have many possessions and I don’t want a burglar or thief to take what little we do have.”
“You think a thief won’t find our belongings?”
He still remembered her smile as she nodded. “Yes, I know, Titus. Thieves, like your father, can be wily and smart. But theirs is a misdirected use of intelligence. Besides, I do this to make me feel better. It’s the least I can do.”
This morning when she finished her routine, she grabbed her shawl and headed out the door. Titus knew their home was still unprotected but at least his mother felt safe. He folded his bedroll and placed it in a corner of their one-room house.
As they began walking, he noticed a merchant leading a donkey toward the marketplace, his wares packed high on the creature’s back. A small flock of pigeons flapped overhead. Titus grinned, gazing at the colors of the morning sky. In a short while, he and his mother neared the edge of the paupers’ shelter beneath the viaduct. He could tell they were close when he smelled the lepers and heard their groans.
“Don’t let them touch you. Just keep walking,” warned his mother. Some people called them the untouchables. Titus felt sorry for them.
“Yes, mother, I know.”
Some of the lepers were still huddled from the night before, apparently trying to preserve their warmth. They resembled a rubbish heap. But they were real people. And if the teachings of the man called Jesus were true, the lepers within the faith would endure the long and dreary nights. They were not forgotten souls. Such were the words of the Galilean preacher, a relative nobody from a village near Titus’ own, a carpenter’s son.
As they entered the city walls, more people appeared in the streets. The Lower City at the foot of the Temple Mount still slumbered in the embrace of its shadow. This was the seventeenth year of the Roman emperor Tiberius and everything appeared to Titus as tranquil and serene.
He heard the creak of hinges as more and more of the city came to life. Soon, the city was teeming with people who had emerged from their homes. Finally, they arrived at the gate of the Temple grounds.
The stones of the enormous pedestal of this holy place fascinated Titus every time he saw them. The blocks were gleaming white marble and beautifully fitted by skilled artisans. Rays of sun reflected off the gold facades that covered the enormous rectangle of the Sanctuary as well as the courtyards around it and the mammoth porticos that surrounded the entire structure.
Titus looked at a posted sign on the gate pillar. He was still learning to read but he knew what it said. The formal notice declared that non-Jews might not enter the temple’s inner court on pain of death.
Inside the gates the place called the Gentiles Court was bustling with activity. During the last five days the Jewish feast called Passover had been drawing increasingly large crowds.
Titus looked at a window on the third story of the Temple and though he wasn’t sure, he thought he saw Rabbi Moshe looking directly at him and his mother. He wasn’t as high on the hierarchy as Caiaphas the High Priest, but he did come from the family of Ananus and so wielded substantial authority. At least once a week Titus and his mother would meet in a lower, private chamber to study scriptures and receive instruction on how to pray. Titus found it interesting that Rabbi Moshe had joined in discussion and debate with the Galilean Teacher in Jerusalem, apparently intrigued by his teachings.
“This way,” said his mother as she took Titus by the hand. “The Rabbi does not like the servants to be late.”
Titus meant to draw his mother’s