“Yes. I was supposed to have had charge of the crucifixion of Bar Abbas. Pilate had already condemned him to the cross when the demand for his release was made. So he released him, and I was relieved of a most unpleasant task.”
“You were fortunate, Porcius. But if three men were crucified, who was the third? I didn’t know another revolutionary had been captured.”
“He was no revolutionary, Cornelius. Pilate knew he wasn’t and wanted to free him. But the High Priest insisted that the fellow was a troublemaker who planned to attempt to set himself up as King of Israel. So, rather than run the risk of having the Temple leaders report him to Rome as protector of the Emperor’s enemies, Pilate yielded and sent the fellow to the cross. And luckily for me, he assigned Centurion Longinus the task of conducting the man’s execution.”
“Longinus! By all the gods, Porcius, who was the fellow?”
“A Galilean. A religious fanatic, I judged him to be, but entirely harmless. His name, if I recall it correctly, was Jesus, I think, one Jesus from a place in Galilee called Nazareth, they said.”
“Jesus! Oh, by all the gods, when....”
“But do you know the man, Centurion?”
“When did they lead him to the Hill of the Skull?” Cornelius ignored the centurion’s question. “How long...?”
“It was in mid-morning. He’s been on the cross for several hours now. And he was unmercifully scourged before they started with him to the crucifixion ground.” He stared at his companion’s suddenly ashen face. “But, Cornelius, why...?”
“Jesus! Oh, great Jove!” Anger, utter amazement and pain were written in swift succession on his still sweating, dust-covered face. “O God of Israel! O his God! O my God, Jesus!”