Our Savior’s Death: Excerpt 20 from The Soldier Who Killed a King

15 Friday Apr 2022

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A journey to the cross is a journey to repentance. It’s a journey to deep personal change. Will you take this journey with me?

Date: Three o’clock in the afternoon, Friday, April 7, 30A.D.
Jesus’ final moments on the cross.

Here is the obscenity of crucifixion. Naked men are unwillingly mated to two wooden beams. They must thrust the whole of their bodies upward in excruciating pain, ever-increasing pain to catch their next breath—until all strength is drained away. Then death steals in.
This is the shame of the cross. Here is the depravity—a profane sacrilege inflicted upon the human body.
The ghastly rhythm of it was driving me mad.
Then in soul- wrenching anguish, his voice erupted. “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?”
“What does that mean?” I cried out into the darkness.
From beyond the military cordon came the answer. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
He had broken. The Christ hung broken. The cross had broken him. He too was human. We were all together now, a great crowd caught up in this drama. There was no us and them. We were together. We were caught between heaven and hell in this dark, surreal atmosphere.
It was dreadful. Centur Rep
Someone frantically yelled, “It’s Elijah! He’s calling Elijah.”
Exhaling.
Mounting up.
Ever-heightening pain.
Catching a breath.
Retreating.
From on the Mother’s Hill, a wail went up. It was steady, constant, a wave of woe flowing over the dark scene.
Exhaling.
Mounting up.
Ever-heightening pain.
Catching a breath.
Retreating.
“Will Elijah come?” someone asked. “Will he come?” Many of the hostile were even now on bended knees. The cavalrymen dismounted.
Exhaling.
Mounting up.
Ever-heightening pain.
Catching a breath.
Retreating.
“I thirst!” the king called out.
Claudius leaped to his feet. There was a jar of wine off to one side. The soldiers had been drinking freely from this. He ran over to it and got a sponge. He dropped the sponge into the jar of wine and then skewered it with a long reed. This he held up to dampen the lips of the donkey king.
But some yelled out, “Wait! Let’s see if Elijah will come and save him.”
Exhale.
Mounting up.
Ever-heightening pain.
Catch a breath.
Retreat.
The rarified air crackled with anticipation.
Exhaling.
Mounting up.
Ever-heightening pain.
Catching a breath.
Retreating.
Can the Creator—the God of heaven and earth—save him now?
Exhaling.
Mounting up.
Ever-heightening pain.
Catching a breath.
Retreating.
“It is finished!” he cried.
But there was no anguish in his voice. There was the ring of victory to it, as if he had caught with that last breath a glimpse—a glimpse of his kingdom. A glorious kingdom! He had gained the summit. Now with vigor renewed, he pushed up and forward one last time.Free WWe SHARABLE-1 (2)
Exhaling.
Mounting up.
Ever-heightening pain.
Catching a breath.
Retreating.
“Father . . .
“Into your hands . . .
“I commit . . .
“My Spirit.”
His head dropped. It was over.
As his chin hit his chest, the earth began to rumble. Low thrumming. Building . . . building . . .
The rock Skull began to move beneath my feet. And with it, my soul.
I fell to the ground.
The crosses began to vibrate and rock with the power of the quake. His head bobbed from side to side.
But he was dead.
He was dead!
Everyone was with me on bended knees.
Heaven had rendered its dark judgment. The sun had hidden its face. The very earth had answered back. The verdict was in.
I caught two huge breaths of air, and then for the whole world to hear, I cried out, “He really was the Son of God.”
He was the Son of God.
The sun broke through.
A rooster crowed.

American readers click this link to purchase The Soldier Who Killed a King.

Canadian readers click this link to purchase The Soldier Who Killed a King directly from the author.

Destroying Angels

14 Thursday Apr 2022

Posted by in Psalm 78, Psalms

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Reading: Psalm 78:40-49
How often they rebelled against him in the wilderness
and grieved him in the wasteland!
Again and again they put God to the test;
they vexed the Holy One of Israel.
They did not remember his power—
the day he redeemed them from the oppressor,
the day he displayed his signs in Egypt,
his wonders in the region of Zoan.
He turned their river into blood;
they could not drink from their streams.
He sent swarms of flies that devoured them,
and frogs that devastated them.
He gave their crops to the grasshopper,
their produce to the locust.
He destroyed their vines with hail
and their sycamore-figs with sleet.
He gave over their cattle to the hail,
their livestock to bolts of lightning.
He unleashed against them his hot anger,
his wrath, indignation and hostility—
a band of destroying angels (NIV).*

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Bilberry Creek — photo by David Kitz

Reflection
There are a number of things I would like to believe. I would like to believe God never gets angry, His patience is everlasting, and that there is no such thing as the wrath of God. I would like to believe Jesus never raised his voice in anger—that he winks at my sins, as though they were no big deal, and then moves on. I would like to believe there is no hell, no burning lake of fire, and no Satan to deceive me.

I would like to believe these things, but I would be wrong. I would be putting myself above the authority of the word of God, which says such things are so. Today’s reading from Psalm 78 reminds us God’s wrath is real and I don’t want to find myself on the receiving end of it, as was the case with the Egyptians. He unleashed against them his hot anger, his wrath, indignation and hostility—a band of destroying angels.

I confess I am tempted to believe in a comfortable gospel, because a comfortable gospel doesn’t call me to account and demand that I change. The Jesus of the comfortable gospel doesn’t demand I sell all and follow him. The Jesus of the comfortable gospel promises me prosperity and self-actualization. I can become what I want, rather than what he wants. The comfortable gospel leaves me as I am—like a pig in his wallow. But somehow, Lord, I believe you want more from me. You want my life—my changed life.

Response: LORD God, I believe in your wrath because you are grieved at the hate and harm we generate in this world. I want to hear you calling and follow you to the place of deep personal change. Amen.

Your Turn: What kind of gospel do you believe in? Does it require personal change?

* NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION, COPYRIGHT ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 BY BIBLICA

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Please pray for the people of Ukraine!

Volume I of Psalms 365: Develop a Life of Worship and Prayer has won the 2021 Best Book of the Year Award and for those who love God’s word, it’s an ideal way to daily meet with the Lord. For a closer look at Volumes II and III click here.

Excerpt 19 from The Soldier Who Killed a King

13 Wednesday Apr 2022

Posted by in Books by David Kitz

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A journey to the cross is a journey to repentance. It’s a journey to deep personal change. Will you take this journey with me?

Date: About noon, Friday, April 7 30A.D.
The crucifixion of Jesus.

Now there was movement on the Mother’s Hill. A middle-aged couple came down. Their heads were hanging. They clung to each other, supported each other, every step an anguish. They made their way before the encircling pikemen.
I knew who they were—knew why they had come. Here were the broken parents, broken beyond this world’s repair. I met them at the base of the hill, told them they had some time.
They advanced up the Skull. She fell, fell whimpering before her son. Thaddaeus. Boisterous soldiers fell silent and then walked off, right off the hill. The family was alone with their grief.
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Having witnessed this grim but welcoming reception, another party stepped off the Mother’s Hill and advanced to Golgotha. This was a group of five. The women clung to one another in couples. They were shepherded by a tall young man. His fresh face and scant beard bore witness to his youth. I recognized him. He had been with Jesus, had stood closest to him.
He introduced himself. He said his name was John. I received his party—ushered them by the outer ring of soldiers.
They were bowed by the sight. They clung to one another afresh, repulsed by the horror of what met their eyes.
After a few moments the young man came before two of the huddled older women. He stooped to speak with one of the women—the Christ’s mother, I assumed. Then with his arm about her shoulder, John advanced up the rock mound.
Jesus saw them.
He struggled.
“Woman . . . behold your son!”
There was a double- edged meaning here, almost too painful for words. At first I thought he was simply referring to himself—to his own wretched state. And perhaps on one level he was.
His body sagged. But then he thrust himself up and forward for another breath, and with his next words his meaning became clear. To the young man, to his disciple, he said, “Behold your mother!”
He had committed his mother into this disciple’s care. She fell to her knees. She trembled, unable to speak. Only wretched sobbing was heard from within the circle of the hill.
In due time I led both families off. They left willingly. This was too much to bear, too much to watch.
From his cross Animal watched the Mother’s Hill. But no one came. That’s when he broke—broke like a clay pot dropped onto the hard rock of the Skull.
He sobbed. He moaned.
His tears flowed like rivers into his dark, young beard.
But no mother came. No one came at all. Free WW-e FACEBOOK-2 (2)
The wind picked up. The sky grew dark. Then it grew darker yet. The horses began to neigh and paw the ground. In the distance a dog barked. It was a bark that changed to a howl but ended in a whimper. I looked about. I could see it on every face. It was fear. Raw fear. This was not the dark of cloud or storm. This was the sun covering, hiding its face from what it saw upon the earth.
A total darkness descended, as black as any night.
There was a discord here—a discord utter and complete. If heaven and earth had come into some perfect union—some perfect harmony—on the day Jesus arrived in this city, it was in blaring dissonance now. Blaring dissonance echoed off the empty chambers of my soul.
It was a deafening darkness.
The mocking crowds fell silent. The highway traffic stopped. All was still.
Silent.
Only the three men were heard. Heard in the darkness. Three men working to maintain this perverted thing called life.
Working.
Pushing up.
Up to catch a breath.

American readers click this link to purchase The Soldier Who Killed a King.

Canadian readers click this link to purchase The Soldier Who Killed a King directly from the author.

Still God is Merciful

13 Wednesday Apr 2022

Posted by in Psalm 78

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Reading: Psalm 78:32-39
In spite of all this, they kept on sinning;
in spite of his wonders, they did not believe.
So he ended their days in futility
and their years in terror.
Whenever God slew them, they would seek him;
they eagerly turned to him again.
They remembered that God was their Rock,
that God Most High was their Redeemer.
But then they would flatter him with their mouths,
lying to him with their tongues;
their hearts were not loyal to him,
they were not faithful to his covenant.
Yet he was merciful;
he forgave their iniquities
and did not destroy them.
Time after time he restrained his anger
and did not stir up his full wrath.
He remembered that they were but flesh,
a passing breeze that does not return (NIV).*

people looking at laptop computer

Photo by Fox on Pexels.com

Reflection
Psalm 78 is a lengthy indictment against the people of Israel for their unfaithfulness to the LORD. Sometimes it’s easy to forget these were the people of God—His chosen people—yet they responded with lies, unbelief and disloyalty. If this is how the people of God conduct themselves, what are we to expect from those who do not know the LORD?

Unfortunately, the people of God today are not so different from the people of Israel 3,000 years ago. When we look about the church world, we see a plenty of division, backbiting and sin. All too often hate rules instead of love. We cover ourselves with a fig leaf of self-righteousness and then proceed to attack those who fail to meet our standard. We do all this while we are trapped in our own secret web of sin. We are determined to clean up the world while ignoring our personal pile of filth.

The words of Jesus from his Sermon on the Mount still ring true today, “How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye” (Matthew 7:4-5).

But given this deplorable state of affairs, what does the LORD do? The psalmist states, “Yet he was merciful; he forgave their iniquities and did not destroy them.” Like the people of ancient Israel, we are saved not because of our righteousness, but solely because of God’s mercy and grace.

Response: LORD God, I cannot boast because of my righteousness. You know all my shortcomings. I have an impressive pile of personal sin. Forgive me through the mercy of your son, Jesus. Amen.

Your Turn: Have you been guilty of pointing out the faults of others while ignoring your own? If so, repent before the Lord today.

* NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION, COPYRIGHT ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 BY BIBLICA

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Please pray for the people of Ukraine!

Volume I of Psalms 365: Develop a Life of Worship and Prayer has won the 2021 Best Book of the Year Award and for those who love God’s word, it’s an ideal way to daily meet with the Lord. For a closer look at Volumes II and III click here.

Excerpt 18 from The Soldier Who Killed a King

12 Tuesday Apr 2022

Posted by in Books by David Kitz

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A journey to the cross is a journey to repentance. It’s a journey to deep personal change. Will you take this journey with me?

Date: Nine thirty in the morning, Friday, April 7 30A.D.
The crucifixion of Jesus.

I tipped the bucket to one side to get enough swill to fill the dipper. I offered it to Jesus. He took a sip, worked the liquid around in his mouth, discerned the true nature of this bitter potion, and then spit it out. It left a dark stain on the dull gray rock near his feet.
“It will dull the pain,” I said emphatically.
He raised his eyes. They locked with mine. I saw in him the same look, the samebiblical-fiction-award-2017_orig determination I saw on the first day I set eyes on him, the day he rode the donkey into this city. I could still see he had a destination in mind. Some mystical purpose he somehow felt compelled to fulfill.
I dropped my gaze. He must be a fool. In his condition, in this situation, he must be a fool. A fool who unnerved me, but a fool nonetheless.
Once more I offered the drink.
With lips pressed tight, he shook his head.
He was a fool. An arrogant fool! A fool who thinks he’s tough—who can handle this—who can take it straight.
We would see who’s tough. I would show him who’s tough!
Let the big show begin.
“Now, boys!” I called out to the crew. Still wearing the purple robe, he was snatched like a young child and slammed down onto the crossbeam.
A cheer went up.
My right hand seized the hammer from Octavio. My left fumbled, then dove into, the nail pouch.
I dropped my knee onto his fingers.
Stabbed the sharpened point of the spike into the base of the palm.
Raised the hammer.
Xchuuuung!
An enormous cheer went up from the crowd.
Blood spurted across my thigh.
Xchuuuung!
Xchuuuung!
Xchuuuung!
One in.
The Christ was silent. Still . . .
Octavio urged me on. “That’s it, Marcus!”
I sprang to my feet, remembering the full rush of battle. Then scrambled to the other arm. From just off the hill, in the throng, a chant began and established itself. “More. More. More. More.”
Knee on fingers.
“More!”
Spike jabbed in.
“More!”
Hammer raised.
“More!”
Xchuuuung!
“More!”
Xchuuuung!
“More!”
Xchuuuung!
Two in. The Christ was silent.
Still . . . He was still beneath the piercing blows.
I rose, panting. Heart pounding. Bloodied hand dripping. Seeing a stain free area farther up my hairy arm, I wiped it across my sweat- drenched brow.
Octavio saluted me with a smile and a thumbs-up signal.
The crowd roared their approval.
This time it was Octavio who yelled, “Hoist him up.”
The Christ was dragged gasping—desperately gasping—to an upright position before the death mast.
Now they could see him, and the crowd went wild with frenzied excitement. Cheering. Clapping. Hooting. Bloodlust took hold.
The props were applied to the arms of the crossbeam.
A new chant went up. 4485 SHARABLE-2
“Raise him up!”
“Raise him up!”
“Raise him up!”
Octavio signaled, and the men in back lifted the beam on which the Christ was pinned above their heads.
Then we all saw it—saw the obvious. He was still clothed. The purple robe billowed out as it was caught by a sudden cold gust of wind. The sight of it brought all my frenzied demons to the fore.
I stepped before him, looked into his agonized face, and said, “You won’t be needing this . . . king of the Jews.”
Then to the cheers of my men, I spit into his face. I added my spittle to all the rest that had dried and was clinging to his beard.
I untied the royal robe and dropped it in a heap to my right. Finally, with a wicked smile, and to cheers all around, I snatched his breechcloth from off his loins.
I tossed it to Octavio. He held it up. A trophy!
We laughed. We all laughed. I
t was a laugh not our own.
I recognized it. It was Herod’s laugh.
When he had regained some composure, the head jailer started the final count.
“Ready . . . one . . . two . . . three . . . now!”
To chants of “Raise him up, raise him up,” the Christ, the Messiah, the king, was lifted up—up before the world.
His head twisted from side to side in writhing agony. His whip-sliced back slammed against the upright as he was dragged higher.
Then with a flesh-tearing lurch, the notch in the horizontal beam found its match in the vertical. The rope was flung around, then drawn tight, securing the two cross members as one.
The silent Christ hung. He hung naked and bleeding before a jeering world.
Only the last spike remained. Awkwardly, I fumbled for it.
But a creeping unease overshadowed me. I glanced over my shoulder. Claudius stood alone, off to the side. Silent . . . He was ghastly pale and silent, transfixed by the sight before him.
I handed the last nail and the hammer back to Octavio and said, “You do it.” He snorted his surprise, but then set quickly to his task.

American readers click this link to purchase The Soldier Who Killed a King.

Canadian readers click this link to purchase The Soldier Who Killed a King directly from the author.

Humans Ate the Bread of Angels

12 Tuesday Apr 2022

Posted by in Psalm 78

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Reading: Psalm 78:23-31
Yet he gave a command to the skies above
and opened the doors of the heavens;
he rained down manna for the people to eat,
he gave them the grain of heaven.
Human beings ate the bread of angels;
he sent them all the food they could eat.
He let loose the east wind from the heavens
and by his power made the south wind blow.
He rained meat down on them like dust,
birds like sand on the seashore.
He made them come down inside their camp,
all around their tents.
They ate till they were gorged—
he had given them what they craved.
But before they turned from what they craved,
even while the food was still in their mouths,
God’s anger rose against them;
he put to death the sturdiest among them,
cutting down the young men of Israel (NIV).*

sliced cake on plate

Photo by Abhinav Goswami on Pexels.com

Reflection
Several years ago, I received some wise counsel from a pastor. He said, “Be careful what you pray for. You may get what you want. And that’s not always a good thing.”

What happens when we get exactly what we want? For the answer to that question, we should consult with million-dollar lottery winners. Obviously, they got what they wanted when they bought their lottery ticket. Sociologists who do long-term studies on lottery winners will tell you in some cases winning the “big one” ends in disaster. Some people have managed to fritter away millions in a perpetual party lifestyle that leaves them physically broken and bankrupt in less than five years. Others have maintained their wealth and their health, but they have become socially isolated with family relationships in ruins. Getting what we want and more than we need doesn’t always end well.

In today’s reading from Psalm 78, we learn that despite Israel’s rebellious ways, God gave the people exactly what they wanted and more than they needed. Human beings ate the bread of angels; he sent them all the food they could eat.

The greatest temptation we face may not be denying God in the face of poverty, but rather neglecting Him amid wealth. When God gives us the wealth we want, the end result may be the impoverishment of our spirit. Be careful what you pray.

Response: LORD God, help me to find my contentment in you and not in the abundance of my possessions. If your blessings come, help me to be a wise and generous manager who seeks first the Kingdom of God. Amen.

Your Turn: Have your answered prayers led to regrets later on? Have you prayed short-sighted prayers while God has the full perspective? The Lord has the long view.

* NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION, COPYRIGHT ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 BY BIBLICA

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Please pray for the people of Ukraine!

Volume I of Psalms 365: Develop a Life of Worship and Prayer has won the 2021 Best Book of the Year Award and for those who love God’s word, it’s an ideal way to daily meet with the Lord. For a closer look at Volumes II and III click here.

Excerpt 17 from The Soldier Who Killed a King

11 Monday Apr 2022

Posted by in Books by David Kitz

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A journey to the cross is a journey to repentance. It’s a journey to deep personal change. Will you take this journey with me?

Date: Eight forty in the morning, Friday, April 7 30A.D.
The trial of Jesus ends. The verdict is delivered.
Characters: Pontius Pilate (the Badger), Caiaphas (the Weasel)

Pilate was already seated, ready to pronounce judgment. A thin smile was now on his face. The cunning Badger would make the most of his final moves. When Jesus was in position, he began. Once more he motioned in the direction of the Christ, and to all assembled he announced, “Here is your king.”
“Take him away!” came the instant response. “Take him away! Crucify him!”
There was vehement insistence coming from the crowd. Some began to hurl dust in theBiblical fiction winner 2017 air. This was verging on a riot, a point that was surely obvious to the governor, yet he played them on.
“Shall I crucify your king?” Pilate called back to the throng.
“We have no king but Caesar,” the Weasel spat back.
The Badger’s eyebrows shot up.
The governor smiled and nodded. It was a smile of triumphant satisfaction. We have no king but Caesar. The Badger mulled over these words. I knew he had waited years for these words. After all he had endured in this place, wasn’t it well worth hearing this confession from the high priest’s mouth?
Ironically, the governor had Jesus to thank for the high priest’s sudden conversion and submission to imperial Rome. This declaration would never have come forth from the Weasel’s lips, except to secure the conviction of the good Galilean. Caiaphas was willing to stoop before Rome in order to spill the blood of this prophet. Here was the true measure of his hatred for the Northern Messiah.
Pilate knew all this, and he drew a good measure of perverse satisfaction from it. He understood his foe.
He called for his personal attendant to bring a basin of water. Now he would lay the blame where the bloody blame belonged. With the attendant holding the basin before him, Pilate made a great show of washing his hands before the crowd, and with insistence in his voice, he declared, “I am innocent of the blood of this man.”
Here was the feint, the great pretend.
Next came the dodge.
With water still dripping from his hands, he looked out over the crowd and declared, “You yourselves see to it.”
He spoke as though he had abdicated—bore no responsibility for the blood that now trickled down Jesus’s back. He absolved himself of that and of all that would soon flow on Golgotha.
This Badger could throw a bit of dirt.
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It was fitting for Annas the aged priest to respond. It was he who answered for the people. With his finger pointed at Jesus and his gaze fixed on him, he replied, “His blood be on us.” Then he paused as though looking down through the generations of time. “And on our children,” he added with a cold, sardonic stare.
Out on the street the people answered, “Yes!” They nodded their agreement with this verdict.

American readers click this link to purchase The Soldier Who Killed a King.

Canadian readers click this link to purchase The Soldier Who Killed a King directly from the author.

They Did Not Believe in God

11 Monday Apr 2022

Posted by in Psalm 78, Psalms

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Reading: Psalm 78:17-22
But they continued to sin against him,
rebelling in the wilderness against the Most High.
They willfully put God to the test
by demanding the food they craved.
They spoke against God;
they said, “Can God really
spread a table in the wilderness?
True, he struck the rock,
and water gushed out,
streams flowed abundantly,
but can he also give us bread?
Can he supply meat for his people?”
When the Lord heard them, he was furious;
his fire broke out against Jacob,
and his wrath rose against Israel,
for they did not believe in God
or trust in his deliverance (NIV).*

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Ice chunks on the river shore — photo by David Kitz

Reflection
Psalm 78 is largely an indictment against the people of Israel for their lack of faith and their rebellious ways. As the psalmist says, “They willfully put God to the test.”

As a child I recall reading the entire book of Exodus and thinking to myself, “Wow, these people sure are dumb. How could they see God’s amazing miracles and then a few days later grumble, complain and doubt that the LORD would help them? These people are real losers!”

Then I grew up and had a family of my own. At times I saw amazing miracles and God’s supernatural provision. But guess what? When the next big difficulty arose, I found myself doubting God would come through. I complained about the difficulty I was in and acted just like the people of Israel in the wilderness.

Oops! I thought I was different. I thought I was smarter than those spiritual dullards in the Old Testament. In reality my grownup faith was much weaker than my childhood faith. When real testing and temptation came, I was and still am, as susceptible to unbelief as any of the wandering Israelites in the wilderness. Faith is a gift from God—a wonder-filled gift that carries us through the hard times.

The indictment against Israel is that they did not believe in God or trust in his deliverance. Do I truly believe in God and trust in his deliverance? Is my faith more than a creedal statement? Does it have legs and wings to carry me through the toughest situation? Often, I am more like the rebellious children of Israel than I would like to admit. How about you?

Response: LORD God, I humbly ask you for the gift of faith—faith to sustain me through the tough times ahead. You are my help, my salvation, and my deliverer. I praise you for your faithfulness. Amen.

Your Turn: Do you have grown-up faith or childlike faith? Which is better? Why?

* NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION, COPYRIGHT ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 BY BIBLICA

BGBG_v4.3_150[1818]

Please pray for the people of Ukraine!

Volume I of Psalms 365: Develop a Life of Worship and Prayer has won the 2021 Best Book of the Year Award and for those who love God’s word, it’s an ideal way to daily meet with the Lord. For a closer look at Volumes II and III click here.

Excerpt 16 from The Soldier Who Killed a King

10 Sunday Apr 2022

Posted by in Books by David Kitz

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A journey to the cross is a journey to repentance. It’s a journey to deep personal change. Will you take this journey with me?

Date: Eight fifteen in the morning, Friday, April 7, 30 A.D.
Jesus endures the whipping post.

His body quivered with the shock of each blow. But he was silent. Silent and gasping. “Thirteen.
“Fourteen.”
I moved to one side, trying to get a look at his face. His thorn-crowned brow was pressed to the post.
“Fifteen.
“Sixteen.”
He was mouthing a word with each blow. What was it?
“Seventeen.
“Eighteen.”
It came with a gasp. Barely audible.
“Father.
“Father.”
At twenty I called a halt. They had traversed the whole of his body, from shoulders to feet. It was a bloody path. I examined the wounds—more damage than I expected.
His breath came in huge gulps. His eyelids flickered. He remained conscious. At least he remained conscious.
Centur. Sw
I stepped over to Gaius. I cut another three studs from his whip. Then I did the same for Lucius.
“Harder! Harder!” came a shout from above and behind me. It was Cestas—Cestas going wild on the balcony of the guest chamber. He couldn’t wait for the lashing to resume. Like a giddy child, he bounced up and down and hollered for more.
I gave an upward nod to Lucius and then began calling out the stroke count again. “Twenty-one.
“Twenty-two.”
They started over at the shoulders.
“Twenty-three.
“Twenty-four.”
Once more the frenzied cheers went up.
“Twenty-five.
“Twenty-six.”
Each man aimed to outdo the other; each blow was more savage than the last.
“Twenty-seven.
“Twenty-eight.”
He did not cry out, unlike many men I have seen. He was silent beneath the cracking whip, uncommonly silent.
“Twenty-nine.
“Thirty.”
Stroke by flailing stroke they moved once more across his bloodied frame. A quivering, rutted mess. That’s what was left by the time we reached forty. I stood near him—watched his breathing. It was fast but shallow, very shallow by the time we finished.
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