It was not difficult to follow Alberto, known commonly as Man Tower, no matter how many people stood in the way.  Ricco easily tracked his master, recognizing his destination.  He was bound for the Roman amphitheater.  Bull fights were being conducted throughout the ceremony, the celebration of St Rufino.  That day a bull would be released upon the streets, a challenge for the young men.  To run before the bull displayed one’s bravery.

“Ricco.  I have another meeting.  I want to be alone with the man.  After the running of the bull, seek me out.  If you cannot find me, return to the stables.  I have secured lodgings there.  At the latest, you will hear from me tomorrow morning.”

“Are you in danger?”

“We all are always in danger.”

A background voice filtered into the space of the two.  “He wanted to own nothing so that he could possess everything more fully in the Lord.” 

Alberto threw his cloak around his face, disappearing into the crowd.  Ricco considered the act ridiculous.  His master could never camouflage himself amongst others.  Standing, he once again heard the distinct voice behind him speaking of religious matters.  Identifying the face with the voice, he discovered a priest quoting scripture.

“Lord, teach us to pray.  So in the present case, I tell you keep away from these men and let them alone; because if this plan or this undertaking is of human origin, it will fail; but if it is of God, you will not be able to overthrow them—in that case you may even be found fighting against God.”

A listener addressed the priest.  “Father, you are telling us to do nothing?  If we do nothing, constantly walking in simplicity, our way of life will be destroyed.  Those supporting royalty will destroy us.”

“I am telling you to pray, to become internally fortified.  That is your first task.  Store your riches up in heaven for there no thief can steal your treasure.  Do not the lilies of the field grow without concern?  You must do the same.  Willing to sacrifice all for the Lord, you will attain eternal victory.  Our Father who art in heaven hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven, give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.  Amen.”

“Just words priest.”

“No!  It is about serious prayer, turning your life and your will over to the care of God.  One faith.  One spirit.”

“We know the way you live.  How dare you speak like this?  Burning words, I think not.  You are fatter than all of us.  You eat more in a day than my children eat in a week.”

Ricco watched the three men move away from the priest who drew his attention.  He noted the priest was an overweight man.  Walk before me and be perfect, the priest knew not the meaning.  Even more, he saw the disregard the priest gave to the moment that just past.  Nonchalantly, and among people with confidence, the priest whistled as he walked toward a tavern.  Ricco turned to a greater sound—the roar of the crowd bellowing from the amphitheater demanding attention.

The passion of the attending announced the killing of a bull.  The neighborhood of the arena was familiar to Ricco.  The labyrinth of streets surrounding the amphitheater, as if designed by Daedal, was the neighborhood he prowled as a waif.  Intertwining, rising, descending, narrowing, turning around upon themselves, crossing, terminating in alleys or flights of steps, the area was small yet quite complex.  He engaged a trot, remembering exactly how to navigate the maze and its secret lairs.

The streets were surprisingly empty as he explored.  He figured the majority of people were attending the bull fights or the festival where the eating, drinking, dancing, and singing overflowed.  Coming across one of the alleys his gang used as a hideout he noticed a pile of rags.  From within the rags, a set of eyes emerged.  He recognized them.  It was Rufino, the once proud leader of their gang.  There before him huddled in misery lay the former leader of his youthful days of carousing.

Rufino was not his proper name, yet Ricco knew not his proper name.  They called him Rufino after the saint as the boy showed a remarkable ability to survive one serious injury after another, just as the stories of the saint told.  Fearless, Rufino was known for making enemies beyond his strength as a child.  His greatest feat occurred after being caught in Perugia during a raid with some older boys.  The older boys escaped, yet he was captured.  The Perugians bound him with rope, dragging him about like a leashed crippled dog, before setting him afire.  Then they threw him from a cliff into Lake Trasimeno.

The Perugians, quite drunk, did a poor job of tying him and lighting him on fire.  Striking the water, the flames were extinguished before causing serious burns.  During the water plunge, the boy managed to free himself.  Swimming away, the Perugians noticed his escape, raining a few arrows down upon him.  None found their target.  Rufino was able to elude recapture, making his way back to Assisi with serious, yet not life threatening burns upon his back.  His story became legend amongst his peers.

“Rufino is that you?”

“Ricco?  RICCO?  I thought you went to Jerusalem to kill heathens.  We should recite an Our Father together.”

“You are religious now?”

“No, not really, more superstitious.  I was covering bases, worrying of a fiery chariot coming for me, trying to protect myself in advance, here and there trouble abounds for a fearful one such as myself.  I thought you went off to the Outremer with Man Tower to kill heathens.  Everyone speaks about the two of you.  You are the first squire the killer of many has engaged.  There is talk of you two being lovers, yet that talk is refuted by talk that Man Tower knows only passion for killing.  Plus, I know you too well and knew you would never engage in such behavior.  I often like to think, dream, about you fighting heathens, killing and collecting great booty.”

“No that is not the case.  I am still here.”

“Are you hunting me?  Have you come to kill me?”

“No.  I am here with my master.  We are attending the festival and bull fights, waiting for a message for future events.  We pray it will be God supplying the guidance.”

“Swear by Jesus, Mary, and Joseph that you have not come to kill me.  Those who are awake woke up in a fright.  There are many I fear.  Please I must insist.  I demand.  Make the vow.  Swear by Jesus, Mary, and Joseph that you have not come to kill me.””

“Rufino please.”

“Now.  Swear by Jesus, Mary and Joseph that you have not come to kill me.  Before they gather together, before they begin to ask each other, before they meant to inflict harm upon me, I must have you swear allegiance.  Commit yourself before Jesus, Mary and Joseph.  Swear that you are not seeking bodily harm against me.”

“I promise to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph that I am a friend to Rufino.”

“Why are you a friend to me when the last we knew of each other I was trying to kill you?”

“Time passes.  Change occurs.  Please come out from under those rags and speak to me.”

“Look up and down the street.  Do you see anyone?”

“There is an old woman sweeping a distance away.  That is all.”

“Is she looking my way?  Watch closely.  She may be trying to trick you.  In the recesses of their hearts, they hide deception.”

“No.  She is unaware of our presence.  In the recess of her heart, I see nothing.”

“Ok.  Now you come into the alley.”

“I see no reason why you will not come out into the street.  The door of eloquence opens for everyone.”

“No I insist.  You must come into the shelter of the alley.  I will explain.”

Ricco entered the alley as Rufino surfaced from his rags.  His physical state was startling.  Emaciated, crippled, the youth he was three years ago no longer existed.  He propped a crutch under his left arm, unsteadily standing.  Ricco realized his left side: arm and leg, were severely damaged.

“The bastards ran me over with horses.  They tied a rope around my neck, and just like in Perugia, they dragged me about the streets like an animal.  They thought I was dead, and I was.  However, now they hear I am alive and they are looking for me.”

“Who are they?”

“The Carducci coalition.  They caught me sneaking into their tower.  It is a long involved story.  Not all stayed stagnant while you were away.  I tried to defend myself, however I was alone and there were six of them.”

“What in the world made you do such a stupid thing?  They are men of great power.”

“I possessed impressive plans of theft.  Those rich bastards can go to hell.  Their days are numbered.  I escaped their property, however they chased me down in the street.  They gave me quite a beating.  Being dragged about by the neck is sheer hell.  Then they rode over me with their horses.  It was a miracle Ricco.  I died.  I watched everything from above as they trampled my body.  I saw many strange things.  God granted me insight into mysteries.  I witnessed a wise man whose mind the Lord had opened to understand the scriptures and who poured forth among the people sweet words about Jesus sweeter than milk and honey.  The wise man looked up from his work, instructing me in the saying of Our Lord’s name as if I had never heard it before.  Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews he announced, informing me this was the name scrawled upon the cross, the name that hung above his head during his time of death.  It was overwhelming for a simple sinner such as myself.  I was sure the one of wisdom would surly condemn me to everlasting torture.  I knew my ways were depraved.   God saw fit to put into action other plans.

“That is when St Rufino came upon me in my dreadful confused state of wandering away from my body.  With strength and ease, he guided me back to my body.  Convinced of my death, the men of the Carducci coalition were all gathered, joining together, leaving my body for the dogs and crows, going off together to drink some wine and get thoroughly drunk together.  All of them spoke filled with the consolation of the Holy Spirit, yet I saw that they were not.  They just desired to get drunk.  Saint Rufino stayed with me.  I was quite fearful.  He was not fearful, effortlessly healing my body from fatal wounds, while comforting the ones lingering.  I silently spoke of these matters, imagining being called by the saint’s name for so long endeared the holy one to look upon me with pity.  St Rufino saved me as if all of heaven teetered upon the event.  The holy one of God I am indebted to for breathing this day.  My body did not heal so completely, but for the most part I am grateful to be alive.  The worst damage has been done to my mind.  All in all though, I am alive.  I took a vow to uphold the gospel of God, however my feeble body and mind have left me simply overwhelmed with survival.  I tend to lose my religiosity quite quickly”.

“What do you mean your mind has been damaged?”

“Paranoia Ricco.  The Carducci’s and others have entered my mind, tormenting me from within.  I hide beneath my body, beneath my rags, however my mind is open to their wrath.  I eat such things that are set before me, however few things are set before me.  Don’t you see how nervous I am?  His bed, I know not.  A thousand forms of fear torment me.  I search for demons within and without, constantly on guard against unseen foes—protecting the city gate leading to my death.  I cannot even go into myself for even inside me lurks my enemies.  They were not touched in their hearts to grant me peace of heart.  It is a terrible quandary.  I had become like a broken vessel.  Also, God is angry with me for escaping death.  This too I know for certain.  I should not be alive.  God is more than aware of the fact.  In my mind, he screams.  Honored by all, towards me his anger is focused.  He is not pleased I still walk the earth.”

“Nonsense.  If God wanted you dead.  You would be dead.  May the Lord bless you.”

“That is what you think, yet he does not finish the job.  I have pleaded with him several times before going to sleep, yet he is not obliging.  My life has been nothing but misfortune since the beginning.  For both of us, Ricco, all care is of no regard.  You look fine now, however I remember the scared boy you were when I first recruited you.  Then our friendship soured, a just judgment.  Don’t you remember I was going to kill you?”

“Yes.  It is difficult to forget.”

“We both never stood a chance with absent mothers.  I am trying the church, attempting to transform God’s hate, to try my hand at brave deeds.  I have not gone inside one, in the way of God’s commands, yet in my heart I am transforming into a child of Christ, a God fearing man.  The going is slow in a time of need.  When I am desperate, laboring at the oars, in serious pain, my conviction grows to immense proportion, however when I start to feel better my stubbornness returns.  It is a slow process becoming a true child of Christ.  To almighty God, I am committed, yet my mind and ways are still those of the broken child you knew.  Furrowing with the plough means nothing when one continuously undermines oneself.  Others have given up on me.  They count me out of the fight.  He sowed the seed of misery and now he reaps proper fruit.  Maybe they are right, yet in my dreams I have retribution for all.  Maybe my aspirations to be a servant of the Most High are founded upon undo bravado.  In reality, I am confined to the miserable life of a hunted cripple.  Ricco, I hope you never know the loathing that is all too familiar to me.  Fleeing the world into death presents itself as a plausible option.  I stare, trying to pray to a particular statue of Our Holy Mother.  She holds the baby Jesus with such love.  I beg God, please Lord, treat me with such kindness.  If I would have known such love from a mother, maybe I would not be the scoundrel I am today.  I plead with him to blind his hate.  He will not.  I escaped death and it makes him angry.”

Ricco understood the overly-dramatic nature of Rufino.  He was always like that.  Life had to be an unparalleled drama, magnificent theater, when Rufino was involved—complex schemes, devious plans, simplicity nothing more than a bore to his genius.

“Come with me and meet my master.”

“No.  I have to be careful where I go.  They search for me day and night.”

Ricco realized it was not just dramatics.  Rufino was really scared.  His handicap was serious and his personality was not that of the fearless leader Ricco remembered.

“Where is the rest of the gang?”

“Dead.  Or they abandoned me.  Either case, it is the same to me.”

“It has been only three years.”

“You have been living comfortably.  Time goes by fast under such conditions.  Remember the way you use to live when I was trying to kill you.  Time goes by much slower when every moment brings the possibility of death.  Days are only a burden during such times.”

“Things have changed.”

“No they are the same.  You have changed.  I see that in you.  You have become spoiled.  I am not so sure it is good for you.”

“And what has happen to you is good for you?”

“It makes me strong.  What you see is an illusion.  My soul is being magnified to great proportions.”

“You can barely walk and fear controls you.”

“See how you have become.  You did not like to argue so much when I was trying to kill you.  Now you think you know everything.  You should be dead except you were so good at hiding.  That damn dog was always warning you when I was near and in a killing mood.”

“I wish you would stop bringing up the fact you wanted to kill me.”

“It is a fact.  Now, since you are so spoiled, you fear facts?  Not too long after your departure was the start of my downfall.  I crossed many.”

“You fear your very shadow.  Please let’s not make conversation so difficult.”

“Oh you would fear your shadow also if your life was filled with the tragedy I know.  I met life with the greatest of gusto.  Do not talk so brave when life has been so kind to you.  You are the talk of the town being Man Tower’s squire and all”.

“Please do not be so difficult.  Let us seek out my master, my companion on the journey.  The commune and Lords attempt to gain his service.  I have a feeling neither side will earn his trust, thus we will part from Assisi.  Possibly he will allow you to accompany us.  He is a complex man.  I know the stories of his savagery, however he has saved my life.  I can do nothing, but trust him.  Beyond words, his effort of training me is a miracle I thank God for blessing upon me.”

“It has nothing to do with God.  The vicious killer is using you.  If you withstood him to his face he would cut you down just like your dog.  You think I did not know about the incident.  Just wait.  If he finds no use for you everything will come to the worst for you.  You’ll find the blade of his sword cutting through your neck before all is said and done.”

“You do not know what you speak of.  I do not think so.  Join me.  You cannot remain hiding beneath those rags, fearing everything inside and outside of yourself?”

“That sweeping old woman I do not fear.  She brings me food.”

“You told me to watch her closely.”

“Well of course.  That was yesterday and the days previous she supplied food.  However one never knows.  Maybe they have gotten to her and she is against me today.  I must not drop my guard and become complacent or they will get to me.”

Rufino considered matters.

“I think I will go to your master and listen to him very willingly.  I have something to offer him, something to fulfill his desire.”

“What is that?”

“When I died, leaving my body here upon the earth, I attained the powers of prophecy.  I think your master will appreciate having me around if I can predict the future.”

Ricco said nothing, observing Rufino who was gathering his rags preparing for travel.  Rufino showed no signs of not believing every word he uttered.  Ricco prayed he was not making a mistake bringing him to his master.  The change in the former leader of their gang was astounding.  The cockiest and toughest of all the street kids, he feared nobody to the point of a detriment.  Adept at inflicting beatings, he suffered many as well.  Now, nervous and crazy talking, he appeared as a different person.  Physically a wreck, the left side of his body rendered nearly useless, Ricco could not help but feel compassion.

Once, walking upon the street, Ricco was pleased to see Rufino capable upon his crutch.  Adapt, his friend was truly a survivor.  His will-power was stronger than physical detriments.  The paranoia slowed him more than physical defects; the constant adjusting of his rags in order to escape detection handicapping him the most.  Ricco suspected he exaggerated his dependence upon the crutch in an effort of subterfuge.

“Once, we are in the crowd keep your eyes open for anyone paying too much attention to me.  Expect an attack at any moment.  Out of my friendship for you, I travel with you into this den of thieves, yet I fear for my safety.  Over there, to your left and behind you.  Do you see that man with the farmer’s hat?  He stares.”

Ricco turned and there was a man in a farmer’s hat staring directly at him.  The man started in their direction waving.  Ricco placed his hand upon his sword preparing for violence.  The man moved passed, brushing against Ricco as he greeted another slightly behind Rufino.  Together the men were joining.  Ricco became angry with himself, realizing Rufino’ state of mind and talk was contagious.

“You have to settle down.  We can neither sow nor reap being so nervous.  Now you have me acting crazy.”

An excitement ran through the crowd, voices shouting and bodies rushing.

“The bull is released.”

In a matter of moments, the street cleared.  A man rushing passed through their midst, another harshly shoved Rufino to the ground.  His ankle twisted badly in the fall.  Another, religious, worshipping and fearing God with all his household hustled past, trouncing upon Rufino’s chest, while firmly kicking him in the head.  Dazed, Rufino remained prostrate and helpless upon the street.

Someone shouted ‘In the name of Christ’.

Seeking cover, Ricco did not notice his friend’s fate.  Rufino managed to raise himself to a crawling position, muttering ‘Lord Our God, they have gotten to me again.’  The pain of his sprained right ankle shot through his good leg, his right leg.  It prevented him from standing.  Realizing he was alone upon the abandoned street, he lost hope, collapsing, drawing his rags up over himself as the bull appeared.

The bull rushed about the street, seeking to inflict harm, narrowing options through focus, reeking destruction with every motion.  Snorting, tossing his head and horns about, the bull positioned himself above Rufino.  Rufino stirred, peeking out from under his rags.  The bull gorged, knocking him hard with his skull, lifting him from the ground.  Injuries mounting, Rufino attempted to crawl away, dreading he left the protection of his alley hideout.  He realized, the good news of the kingdom of God he might just be hearing before all was said and done with the bull.  His efforts only drew more attention.  The bull charged, striking harshly, driving him into the ground.

Sheltered, Ricco observed his friend being abused by the bull.  He thought words from where he knew not: a dead man carried out, the only son of his mother.  Deepening his inhalations and exhalations, entering a trance, time altered, slowing Ricco’s perception.  He saw his friend’s plight in a profound dimension.  Senses acute, he called to a man standing near to give him the pike he held.  The man obeyed as if under a spell.

Pike in hand, its dimensions and weight accounted for, Ricco resolutely trotted toward the bull, calling out, demanding attention.  The bull turned, facing off.  Hesitating before charging, snorting, the bull observed his challenger.  Picking up his pace, heading toward the center of the street, Ricco advanced.  The bull centered itself, aligning a charge.  The bull held still, while preparing for the confrontation.  Ricco, immersed within his effort, brought the spear up for a fatal plunge.  A prayer to St. Michael blossomed from his subconscious, onto his tongue and out into the air.  The bull charged with an accelerated thrust.  Ricco held strong, raising the spear even higher, both hands clutching, preparing.  The bull upon him, Ricco jumped into the air, bringing the spear under his arm, centering his being upon anchoring the spear in the cleft beyond the bull’s neck and the start of his hump.  Furious, the bull brought the clashing encounter into reality.  Ricco focused upon the pike piercing between the shoulders blades.  The pike sank deeply, before shattering into pieces.  Lifted into the air, knocked almost twenty feet backwards, he watched the bull’s front legs collapse.  He fell down at his feet.  The bull belched before dropping dead upon the street.

A roar exploded from those attending; cheering and screaming sounding from the witnessing.  Knocked nearly unconscious, Ricco managed to lift himself to his hands and knees.  His vision only produced a swirling.  He could recognize two bodies walking towards him.  He recognized both.  His master and Rufino, in possession of his crutch, walking remarkably well, neared.

“It was all in the way I envisioned it.  I knew you would kill the bull.  So I am not as surprised as all these people.  As I was being knocked about, everything flashed through my mind.”

“What?”

“I told you I attained the gift of prophetic vision when I died and came back to life.”

“You are ok?”

Blood soaked the rags of Rufino.

“I was gorged.  I am bleeding badly.  Saint Rufino protects me so I do not fear.  Your master also came in spirit.  He quelled my fears of others killing me.  Those bastards will not attack me with him close.  I now see that aligned with Man Tower others will forgo their desire to kill me.  I will have to be sewn up, although that means nothing compared with the idea of finally shedding my fears.”

Rufino collapsed.  Reacting, Ricco lifted him up.  Unconscious, Rufino weighed nearly nothing.  Ricco moved his body about, inspecting the gouging.  The laceration was fairly deep.  He did not have time to think beyond the affirmation as the crowd rushed upon him, lifting him in the air and carrying him into the amphitheater.  Hoisted upon shoulders and raised hands, he noticed Alberto tending to Rufino.

“It’s Man Tower’s squire.”

“In the name of Our Lord Jesus Christ.  What a display.”

“The bravery of the man of God saved the useless one hiding beneath the rags.”

“I recognize him.  He was nothing more than a common thief running these streets as a child.  I thought he became a bedridden paralytic.  I know the Carduccis thoroughly trounced him with their horses.”

“No not the disheveled one.  We speak of the killer of the bull.  He has changed.  He is transformed through the most high God.  He is no longer the street child you speak of.”

“Now we shall call him Theseus, the squire of Man Tower.  The grace of God has restored him to his earlier health, a health he knew as an infant.  He is born again a new man, a killer of the festival bull.  It is life that strips one from the graces of God, forcing one to need rebirth.  Now this one, we shall call Theseus, has been reborn.  Look, he carries himself as one who has revealed to himself wisdom.”

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.