Turning, he raced along the corridor toward the steps that a moment ago he had ascended, stone stairs that went down to the ground-floor open area just inside the great western entrance to the fortress.
51
Cornelius had reached the gate in the north wall when the storm broke with sudden fury. He darted beneath the flimsy awning of a fish stall to wait out the blast.
“Here, let me help,” he said to the frantic shopkeeper as he caught a side of the filthy cloth with which the squat Jew was trying desperately to cover his malodorous fish to protect them from the dust and powdered dung swirling along the cobblestones. “You’re lucky your market has the protection of the wall, or everything would be blown away. This is one of the worst storms I’ve ever.... By all the gods!” The ground had begun to tremble.
“An earthquake!” the shopkeeper shouted. “Wind and torrents of rain, and now the earth shakes!” His eyes were round and frightened. But in another moment the tremors subsided, and the man regained his calm. “I’m not surprised, soldier,” he observed, lifting his hands, palms up, and shaking his head solemnly. “And it makes no difference, I’m thinking, that my stall sits in the lee of the great wall. By the beard of the High Priest, it, too, will be leveled to the ground!”
“What do you mean? Hasn’t this wall survived many an earthquake before this one?”
“Indeed, soldier. But we’ve never had anything like that before.” He indicated with a quick nod of his head the hill beyond the gate’s square. “Never him on a cross.” He looked the centurion in the eyes, and Cornelius fancied he saw a sudden hostility. “Soldier, have you been up there?”
“No, I’ve just come from the Fortress Antonia, and only an hour ago I arrived in Jerusalem. What do you mean?”
“I mean that one up there, soldier, on the middle cross.” He pointed. “It’s that rabbi from Galilee. Your Pilate tried him this morning and sent him to the cross, and unjustly, too, it’s my opinion. And I heard it said that the Galilean told how he would cause the Temple to be destroyed and in three days raise it up again.” He dabbed a greasy forefinger against the centurion’s soiled toga. “And I’m of the opinion, soldier, he’s got the power to do it. Didn’t he raise that fellow over at Bethany from the dead? This storm and this earthquake”—he paused and on his countenance was an expression of understanding suddenly gained—“soldier, maybe he’s doing it now! Nor could I blame him.” He shook his head slowly. “I’d hate to be in Pilate’s sandals, or those soldiers’ up there!”
Almost as quickly as it had burst upon them, the storm was ended. The rain ceased with the blowing away of the clouds, the winds quieted, and the great blazing disk of the sun, still high in the sky toward the Great Sea, shone down bright and searing. The shopkeeper rolled back the grimy cloth, crumpled it into a heap, and with it dabbed lightly at several fish it had failed to protect; then he hurled it into a corner and turned to wait upon pilgrims in the vanguard of a procession Cornelius saw coming down the slope of the Hill of the Skull.