WARNING graphic nature to portions of the storytelling. Not for the squeamish, or overly prudish. Never afraid of harsh reality, I push forward grounded within faith, hope, and charity.
As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.
In route amidst another escape, two Hebrew thieves fled Tyre by land, hiding amongst an inland bound trading caravan, their flight the most recent of many as their worldly age advanced nearly a decade beyond a half a century, the vast majority of those years spent absconding. Appearing younger than accumulated years, the men moved about as men possessing a grand destiny, an air of something set apart tainted their personas. Placing Tyre behind them was nothing new. It was a thing performed previous. Cyclical in manner, the city served as a transient point once again. A return voyage across the great sea, ha-yam, abandoning Greek lands, produced their appearance, while a homeland called interior. Movement and new lands allowed anonymity, a fresh start amongst fresh faces, an opportunity to reinvent one’s self.
Tyre, the former island now a peninsula, transformed by the military and engineering might of Alexander the Great, stood as a launching and returning point for the Israelites of ill-repute. Tyre, a port city flocking with transitory people, a place ideal for men of the thieving disposition, provided temporary refuge. Worldly and decadent, the city proved popular for those lacking familial tendencies, singular beings focused upon advancement, adventure, survival centered upon Tyre. Even amidst the chaos and confusion of the metropolis, it did not take long before the thieves needed to seek further lands.
Escaping Tyre, the descendants of Abraham were intent upon a return to their homeland holy city of David: Jerusalem. However, no superior religious intent existed. The thought of rebellion motivated the two. A fellow Israelite told of violent Zealots growing brave in numbers and resistance to Rome. The two recognized the name of the man commanding the Zealots, and also the notorious Barrabas amongst the marauders and killers of loyalist to Rome. The thieves discerned fortune amongst the zealots. Scheming constantly, dreaming big, they envisioned wealth, and at the least easy living; survival and materialism centered upon, rather than religious zeal, in regards to life amongst the zealots. Terrorizing highways, inflicting damage upon caravans, the thieves felt they could secure status amongst the stealth men of the mountain caves committed to opposing Roman rule. It would be good to be amongst men of their own kind looting and carousing.
Thirty years in the past, the thieves fled from their hometown of Jericho. Before reaching the age of twenty, the men wore out their welcome, flight necessary in order to avoid stoning. Children of sin, parentless, neither were acquainted with permanence. Instability, struggle, and strife their fates originating from lowly births. Childhood experiences led them to dependence upon the criminal underworld populating surrounding mountains; their outcast nature a point of bonding amidst those who could not be trusted. In youthful days, they ran amongst a pack equivalent in age, hooliganism their forte. Their wicked deeds compounding until ultimately highway robbery and murder stained their reputations. The years eroded as paths divided.
The two, Gestas, the hard-hearted, and Dismas, the dour, along with several others, eventually took to the caves of the Dead Sea, preying upon the trading caravans carrying bitumen and balsam to Gaza and Caesarea. Lounging and residing near the hot springs of Callirhoe, the thieves accumulated abundant bounty. Bitumen and balsam were prized commodities specific to the low laying saline territory. The Dead Sea, the lowest point on the surface of the world, was a place of no aquatic life. The lands surrounding were ominously known; Sodom and Gomorrah once existing near. Standing salt formations taller than men decorated the southeastern shore, one forlornly recognized as the former wife of Lot, a punishment for turning and looking back when commanded by God not to do such a thing. The ancient world prized the bitumen and balsam reaped from the arid lands; balsam a prized perfume for the wealthy, while the bitumen ingeniously served as an adhesive, sealer, and brick mortaring agent, possessing the mystical aspect of having once been the essential ingredient in the embalming process of ancient Egypt. The two thieves cared little for the two commodities, preferring the gold others exchanged for them. They treasured gold above all things. Living filthy, plunged into lives of sin, they cherished the refinement of gold. Its valuable luminescent nature hypnotizing their deepest being.
It was not long before their dishonest and immoral ways caused complexities. In addition, the lack of women, even whores a sparse commodity, forced the men to flee the caves of the Dead Sea. The accumulation of years and personal choices isolated the childhood acquaintances Gestas and Dismas from one another. They would become distant to everyone and everything involving the people, the Israelites, they were unceremoniously born amongst. I have become a stranger to my brethren, and an alien to the sons of my mother. The two lived as men without a homeland, while revering their Hebrew heritage. Mysteriously, they remained connected to the nature of their blood kin.
Once again reunited, Tyre was the latest place the wanderers deserted. Continued residency in the city threatened violence. Gestas, the hard hearted, fought with a man, killing the stranger during a game of chance. The stranger collapsed drunk after Gestas clubbed him with a cooking skillet, thumping his head against a rock, never standing after the duel striking. The stranger possessed brothers, and the brothers were seeking revenge. Drunken talk spread that Gestas struck without warning, while the truth was the dead man instigated the fight, pulling a knife once realizing his drunkenness was so severe he experienced double vision. Dismas joined Gestas fleeing. The two made the brash decision to return to their homeland, even if it presented chance in regards to the numerous enemies existing there.
Dismas, noted for his dour manner, a man of sorrows, particularly longed for his homeland. Hope existed within his heart. Previous to the Dead Sea days, he attempted an honest life as an innkeeper, however severe Roman and local taxes bankrupted the venture. Collected cruelly, taxes ruined men and businesses. A man owing too heavy a debt would be viciously beaten, eventually forced to turn over all assets. Gestas returned to thieving before matters escalated to violence. He blamed tax collectors for thwarting his life as a decent citizen.
Internally hopeful, outwardly Dismas depressed others. Though many men looked anxious and/or depressed, the severity of his downcast nature struck others as disconcerting. At times, he was violently rejected for his gloomy disposition. Gestas grew accustomed to his dismal ways. He reasoned, ‘so much the better if others were put off by the man’s grim nature’. Gestas, the hard-hearted, found no pleasure amidst strangers, and with age, intimacy meant revulsion, friendship of no concern. Whores were to be despoiled, yet fellowship forsaken.
Though accepting, Gestas despised Dismas’ melancholy. The man of sorrows struck others as cold and harsh, yet he knew the man tended to be soft, wailing during sleep. He was never a killer amongst the band of renegades terrorizing the highways of Judea and Samaria. He could not recall a single life the man cast away. He, himself, was known as a ruthless killer, caring nothing for victims, disregarding ancestry, age, and sex in his eradicating. Gestas possessed infamy, proud of a reputation for hanging women naked by their heels, then slicing off their breasts. It gave him status amongst the depraved. He told drunken stories of drinking blood from the severed limbs of infants, yet it was only a horrid boast. It meant more for him to own the reputation of a horrible treacherous man, than to actually be such an atrocious thing.
Never truly friends, the two thieves still stuck to one another. There was no comradery, nor sentimental attachment, yet the two remained together. Though sharing life as companions Gestas always kept the reality in mind that maybe one day he would have to kill Dismas. In his mind there knowing of each other meant nothing. Their companionship was a bad habit maintained over ruinous years. Compiled time a flame burning away charity. The companionship Gestas shared with the spineless thief advanced in feeling only in the form of dissatisfaction.
It was during the flight to Egypt that Gestas recognized Dismas became the man of sorrows, one acquainted with silence and dejection. They were riding amongst several when they ransacked a resting caravan originating from somewhere within the heart of Judea. The caravans tended to travel at night, utilizing darkness as cover. Resting during the brightness of sunlight, the confrontation occurred. Rapidly, matters became strange. There was a young couple, seemingly set apart, carrying an infant.
The young family, clothed in poverty, appeared dignified, making Gestas speculate. He knew the wealthy often donned the disguise of the poor when traveling. With the intuition of a master thief, he was positive this was the case. The dignified young man and woman carried themselves as only the rich could. He determined the young couple carrying their infant child to Egypt possessed a hidden treasure.
Sneaking up from behind, Gestas accosted the husband and father, clutching his throat within the crook of his arm, ordering his softer companion to apprehend the woman and infant. As the two confronted the young family, shouts and orders of submission rang throughout the camp. For Dismas and Gestas, the overall surrounding confrontation seemed removed from the sequestered incident involving the young family. A quickly formed whirlwind encircled them, a physical blinding border created. The ground itself seem to be shaking, yet there was no quaking. Darkness settled, yet still the sun shined. Dismas attempted to voice commands, yet slothfulness swallowed his words, darkness enveloped his thoughts. Dazed, tunnel vision ensuing, Gestas was unable to tighten his choking grip upon the husband and father, regardless of the desperation in attempt. Sluggishly, alienated, perceiving in a surreal manner, Dismas moved toward the woman holding her baby.
Dismas did not want to attack the helpless young family. There were wagons to be pillaged. He saw no need to focus upon the innocent. He never liked assaulting the weak. In fact, he enjoyed sharing stolen booty with the poor. Stealing came natural. Why not share the loot with the unfortunate? Life dealt him a terrible hand, therefore he was entitled to wage a war of survival. Corruption and evil were the law of the land. Taxes could steal his business and he could steal from those who could afford to lose. Those who taught differently were the worst of scoundrels, spoiled miscreants hiding behind morality. Such were the religious minds of the worst defilers of the downtrodden. The woman grasping the infant was one of the simple ones. The thief did not want to cause her suffering.
The woman turned, drawing her shawl away from her face. The woman and Dismas met eyes. Tears welled and spilled.
“I….I have nothing to do with you…nor..nothing…nobody…NO…NO…no…”
Silence held.
“Please leave me alone…”
Silence held. The woman completely lowered her shawl. The shawl was large not only covering her face, yet also wrapping the baby in her arms. Her young beauty astounding, Dismas lost himself in the woman’s innocent childish eyes. Her hair immaculate dropped down upon her face. Her hands full of grace cradled her baby, incorruptibility, virtuousness radiating. Her presence was that of a woman three times her age. Dismas perceived the immensity of her being, yet darkness clouded comprehension, memory lost immediately. His perception of time slipped into declination, his breathing settling into a deep heavy pattern. The woman reminded him of his own mother who died when he was a boy. His normal state of nervousness and fear disappeared. The wretched thief he was felt as if he were smoking opium the men from the east offered. The baby moved, opening his eyes, adoring his mother, before turning his sight to Dismas. Realities he could not grasp, nor apply permanency to, truth physical and violent, drove into his chest, piercing his heart.
Who were this woman and child? Dismas comprehended they were poor, simple, nothing more than peasants, yet their presence pronounced royalty. Who were they? Understanding his imperfections, his brokenness, all the shards of his being exposed, he could not approach any closer. So much to comprehend and yet his thoughts were struck with a paralysis: a moment of absolution, a moment of knowledge/wisdom, a moment of awareness washing over him–an imbroglio centered upon love, peace, and joy with his essence imbibing the mother and child, yet he could not understand nor grasp totality. Something pointed to a future, however vagueness overshadowed. Everything within was in passing. There was a silhouetted vision of three men dying upon trees. Within the witnessing, he could only observe, experiencing a devastation of sorrow. Old ways halted, something new, still incomplete, arose within, infused brutal attributes adhering. His heart ached, fear of a bloody eruption blossoming. For the moment, Dismas could progress no further.
The woman smiled, inoculating peace, touching with a subtle imprint of joy. Weeping, Dismas fell to his knees. Voicelessly, the women called to him. The infant held a penetrating stare. Without words, pleading for forgiveness, he reached out his hand. Sound broke through, the baby breathing. The woman placed her hand in his, assisting the thief to stand. The touch sent shivers of light up his arm, through his shoulder and on within his body, a wave of shuddering occurring. Overwhelmed, dropping the woman’s hand, Dismas turned away from mother and child.
He spoke to his companion. “Gestas release the man for his family needs him. We must go away from here.”
The demarcating whirlwind ceased. The sound of the surrounding fracas made it evident the travelers were seizing control of their camp. The marauders fled, bounty in tow. Gestas frantically looked about, realizing his effort would be for naught, fearing apprehension or an arrow sinking into his back.
“Release him Gestas. He is one of the innocent.”
Unnaturally fearful, Gestas threw his arms into the air and backed away from the man he once locked in a choke hold. He carefully watched his back as he slipped away. Trotting away from the scene, Dismas looked back. The young family prepared for travel, the husband assisting his young wife onto their donkey. The wind increased in velocity, tossing an increasing amount of sand about. The young family lost from sight within secrecy.
The experience marked Dismas, a change in his disposition occurring, yet the change was not a transformation. He was no longer an angry thief, hating tax collectors, at war with the world, constantly cursing and battling authority. Instead, he was a man of sorrows, blank and distant to the affairs of men. His ways of sin would not cease, as the interior change could not exteriorly manifest into moral thought or behavior. Misery of the unknown dominated him, darkness clouding his senses.
Thirty plus years after the incident, Dismas lived as he always lived, still thieving, drinking, gambling, fighting and whoring. However, now none of these things brought pleasure or satisfaction. He knew nothing better, while attached to nothing. Never was he able to eliminate the eyes of the woman and child from his memory. Clarity lost, a profoundly engraving impression remained. Within his melancholy, he pondered the possibility he brought a child into the world through his reckless sexual activities. The unknown, possibly unborn, child or children became a source of solace as he spoke and prayed for the easing of strife in such a created life. An imaginary child became his mental focal point, sending love to an unknown son he was not even sure existed.
Now travelling back to Jerusalem, the two thieves, passing through Galilee, came across the camp of fishermen. The men were foreigners of various descent. The thieves watched the men for a day and a night, noticing there was an older woman amongst them. There were three of the men, with one obviously a former Roman soldier. The Roman was large, formidable in appearance. however the thieves noted the men were vulnerable during the night, lacking in the duty of security. Their goods were abundant, several wagons ripe for plundering, and within the quartering tent insinuated valuables close to the sleeping. The tethered horses stood sheltered near the tent, absconding with any would be dangerous. Neither man was especially efficient with horses. It was difficult to steal horses as horses would rebel against a new owner taking command in the middle of the night. The thieves observed the Roman and his fellow fishermen, marking them for competent men, yet ripe for looting. They would rise from slumber due to the slightest unnatural disturbance. Still, heeding silence and stealth, bountiful theft existed.
During the second night of spying, the thieves moved in upon the wagon. They did not notice an observer. Bogdan, the Dacian by daemon—the divine within, and his dogs, returning to camp, caught sight of the thieves scouting the camp of their comrades. Bogdan, afoot, had been wandering the mountains of Palestine alone for several days. The youth and his dogs; Zalmoxis, Atlas, and Zeno, were hunting, exploring the tracks of a variety of animals. A small herd of Dorcas, gazelles, became a point of following. It was a matter of days before Bogdan and his dogs were able to track the gazelles down. Shooting from above, his dogs obedient and quiet, Bogdan took down the largest male with an arrow to the heart. The horns were beautiful, Bogdan leaving them attached to the skull for a trophy. The heat and dryness of Palestine cured the skull in a matter of days. The horns, strongly curved, bowing outwards then turning inwards and forwards at the tips, were marked by twenty-five growth rings. The horn trophy would be a symbol of his time in Israel. He would not go to Egypt as Lydia prescribed.
Bogdan’s return to the camp of the Roman, Egyptian, and Greek took longer than he anticipated. He travelled far and long following the gazelles. Not wishing to disturb the camp during sleep, he settled a slight distance away, hidden and quiet as usual. His dogs silently encircling him, Bogdan sat cross legged as he looked over the camp focused upon the east. Movement caught his eye. He knew the stealth approach of thieves. Two were converging upon the camp of his companions. Silencing his dogs with a gesture, preparing his bow with an arrow, Bogdan and his canine began an interception.
Gestas leading, the thieves moved quickly, hidden within the darkness and clouded moon, ghosts to perception. The two reached the scouted tent before Bogdan could prevent entrance. Accomplished thieves, the two moved deceptively quickly. Gestas sliced the fabric of the tent expertly for entrance and swift fleeing. Entering the tent, both thieves moved about the sleeping men, proficiently scavenging, filling sacks upon their backs. Surrounding blackness cloaking, the invaders, attuned to the slumbering, anticipating the slightest effort of waking, prepared for the death a rising would demand. Skillful, experienced, comprehending the necessity of calmness, breathing deep in order to ensure calmness, intrinsically aware, acting with absolute intent, thieves to the core, they carried about the business of stealing.
Locked into larceny, master thieves that they were, the two did not notice events occurring beyond their criminally carved doorway. Bogdan positioned himself for a short-range bowshot. Stationed further off, his dogs, stalked silent yet panting. Invisible in the night, the dogs laid upon the ground eager for attack, ears erect and scanning.
During the unperceived dramatics, Naomi, the outcast bleeding Hebrew woman, dreamt. It was an empurpling dream. The color of royalty and wealth so well respected by all the people of Palestine, including the Roman conquerors flooded purple throughout. Purple robes, walls decorated with purple fabric, bedding covered with comfort and warmth, all were purple. Within and through the color, the words of the teacher Jesus existed; the entirety of the dream flowering into a beautiful purple robe adorning the crowned Jesus, blue and red mixed. Naomi’s heart ached to touch simply the hem of his robe.
The comfort of the dream was so intense Naomi opened her eyes. Immediately, she perceived the shadow moving amidst the tent, reality struck harshly with fear. Thieves were amongst them. Steadying her nerves, possibilities raced through her mind. To lay in silence could mean death, yet more likely it would allow the thieves to complete their business and be gone. Something possessed her to stop the men from pillaging the belongings of the men who welcomed her into their camp. The men were strong, especially the Roman. The man slept with his sword. He feared not death. There was no doubt he would wake ready to strike and adeptly defend. Impetuously, Naomi screamed out in Greek.
“Thieves. Thieves are present.”
Amicus rose, pirouetting, swinging his covering about, while raising his sword in a sweeping action. His eyes, searching the tent, locked onto the fresh slicing. Easily, he blocked the opening, finding the silhouettes of the two trespassers. Thieves he despised. A seasoned soldier, always ready for battle in an instant notice, he knew thieves were rarely accomplished fighters. Sneak attacks and stabs to the back were the ways of most thieves.
“Drop our belongings and your lives will be spared. Raise your knives to my sword and know death’s sting coward of hiding.”
Gestas despised the Roman giving warning. All Romans, he hated. Their assumed superiority, their arrogance, irritated him gravely. An outcast amongst his own people, he still viewed his people as chosen, special amongst all others. He had become a criminal, yet the ones he descended from where a people chosen by the one true God. He was one of the elite people. The filthy Romans were brutes of violence to be abhorred. The ancients of Israeli were patriarchs of honor and holiness. Those were his ancestors. Those of Rome were malicious cretins. Defeated at Troy, crawling to a new land, they arose from violence and to violence they were given.
Gestas even hated the history of Rome. Twins, Romulus and Remus, could not endure as a nation, therefore Romulus would kill Remus as he broached the fortified walls Romulus constructed. Romulus would establish Rome by distinguishing the valley between the Palatine and Aventine hills as a refuge for all lawless and landless men. The population would grow so rapidly that the problem of women arose. A solution was found as the neighboring Sabines were invited to a feast that was in reality a trap. The men were slaughtered as the women were raped and stolen. Romans felt no disgrace, telling tales of their deeds through the years. The opposite, they took pride, believing cleverness and strength were the essential building blocks of civilization. Gestas ignobly thought of all Romans as scourges, the antithesis of his divinely blessed heritage. A scourge himself, he felt above the foreign horde for he was born of Israelites. The Romans could destroy and conquer, yet they could not erase the nature of their being.
Armed, Timoleon and Paki were soon standing. Amicus ensued an offensive. An unexpected eruption exploded upon events. From behind Amicus, charging and barking into the tent, dogs appeared: Zalmoxis, followed by Atlas and Zeno, pursuing the scent of the thieves, barging upon the out breaking of violence. The distraction of the dogs gave the thieves the moment they needed. Experts in escape, the two put into action a stratagem employed by plunderers of tents. Both knocked down the vertical supports of the tent, causing the tent to collapse. Slicing their way out as the tent fell in upon itself. The chaos of the dogs and the tent falling halted Amicus. The Roman confused as the tent smothered his vision. By the time he freed himself, the thieves were riding off, mounted on former Roman horses.
Amicus was furious, venting his hostility on the Dacian youth.
“Where were you coward, waiting outside while our throats were exposed to the knives of thieves? Your insolence is unacceptable.”
Bogdan said nothing as Amicus marched upon him, striking him across the face with the back of his hand. Zalmoxis emerged from the debris of the tent, attacking. The Roman and the dog never like one another. Amicus dropped the dog with an uppercut blow of his sword, nearly severing its head. The mighty dog released grotesque whelp before dropping lifeless. To no avail, Bogdan screamed out.
“Your ignorance cost your dog his life. Do not allow it to cost you familiarity with death. It is cold and unforgiving to cross the final border. You are not ready”.
Amicus warned off the spirited young man, yet useless his words sounded. Angry, he still did not desire to kill the Dacian youth. Bogdan struggled with his passions and emotions. Amicus held him off with a stare, while not retaliating with an implied offensive. Amicus expended his wrath with the killing of the canine. It was a serious blow to the Dacian. The spark of Bogdan’s passion exploded in a quick rush of the Roman. He struck for death, knowing the Roman’s superiority, a counter defensive his focus. He cared not for life, yet knew not how to take the life of the Roman who took the life of his best dog. Helpless moments passed too quickly for him to accomplish the quenching of revenge. The Roman blocked his attack, pouncing forward, a quick feint and two precise, expertly delivered strikes slicing open Bogdan’s sword wielding shoulder and left thigh. There was nothing the young barbarian could do. Wounded, Bogdan dropped his sword, crawling to his dog, dead in a pool of its own blood.
Naomi’s scream broke the moment as she observed the blood covered youth grasping his lifeless dog. The younger dogs stood about sniffing at their deceased father and mourning master. The overwhelming stench of familiar blood paralyzed the dogs.
Amicus growled orders. “The young one needs medical attention. Timoleon tend to him.”
Timoleon made his presence known, moving to Bogdan.
Amicus made a loud pronouncement. “I will not go near you, nor allow you to come near me Bogdan of Dacia, born of Thracian mother and father. Death stands between us.”
Amicus moved away from the others. Paki, the Egyptian, the handler of all animals, comforted the living dogs.
