It was gone. The sin, the bitterness, the darkness, the hatred. It was gone, and it did not leave her empty as the disappointment had. It left her filled. Filled with life, filled with hope, filled with him.
She sagged against Jairus, willing now that Jesus would look her way. She wanted to look into his eyes, she wanted to cry out her epiphany, she wanted to fall at his feet and worship him. He was the Christ! He was Messiah! He could see her sins, he could see her ugliness, and he could forgive her. The questions of how she would know if he were what he said were suddenly irrelevant. How could anyone not know? How could anyone feel the power of him and not realize he was not only of God, but that he was God?
“Hosanna,” Abigail whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Hosanna,” Jairus echoed, behind her now, since he had turned to follow Jesus’s progress with his eyes. “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest!”
“Hallelujah.” Abigail sobbed quietly. “It is he. Blessed be the Lord, for he has heard the cries of his children and has answered! Father, forgive my doubt. It is he. It is he!” She fell to her knees with the force of her sudden emotion, and Jairus did not seem to notice. Indeed, he seemed to forget her presence; he wandered away, toward the place where the men would be attached to their crosses. It was a place to which Abigail did not wish to follow.
*
They stripped the prisoners, dividing their clothes among the centurions that attended them; it was part of the reward for supervising a crucifixion, this piece of clothing that one could keep and take home.
“It is without seam!” One of the three centurions with Titus held up the tunic that Jesus had been wearing. He eyed his companions warily. “It would be a shame to divide it.”
Titus growled, shaking his head. “So cast lots. Later. We have a job to do.” He motioned toward the crosses.
The other soldiers dropped the clothes and all set about the task. The crosses were laid on the ground, the writhing men held down onto them. Getting the first one into position was not very difficult, but the screams that were torn from his throat as they hammered the spikes through his wrists, then his feet, were enough to throw the second criminal into a fevered pitch of panic. It took four of them to hold him down.
“Just knock him out,” Titus suggested from where he stood, hammer and spikes in hand, waiting for them to subdue him.
“And deprive the masses of his cries?” One of the soldiers sneered. “Never. There, we have him. Hurry.”
Titus bent down, looking only at the hand in front of him. It was clenched tightly, still trying to turn away from the soldier who grasped him. As soon as Titus touched the spike to his flesh, he let out a blood curdling wail. Titus raised the hammer and drove it with a single blow into the wood of the cross. One more secured it, then he moved to the other side and the other hand. Within moments, the thief was fixed. As two of them lifted the second cross into the second hole, the rest of them moved to the last convict.
“What was he saying to you on the road?” one of his companions asked Titus as they walked the few steps.
“Nothing.” Titus knew better than to say the truth to this man. He would not understand that his flesh still burned from where Jesus’s blood had touched it, he would not understand the knowledge that had been in that one-eyed gaze. He would not understand that Titus’s stomach turned at the thought of having to drive stakes into the wrists of one man when he had not hesitated a minute before.
As it was, another already stood ready with the tools. Titus approached Jesus, who was being stretched out on the wooden beams of the cross. He made no objections, no opposition. He let his arms be extended, his feet put one on top of the other. His good eye moved to Titus, then, when he felt the cold tip of metal against him, he closed his eyes. When the stake pierced, his body jerked with the pain and he emitted a low groan. None of them knew if he was too weary to manage more, or if it was a last show of quiet strength. He was raised, and the cross slid to its place in the ground.
“Let us cast the lots,” a soldier proclaimed.
Titus turned from them in disgust.
*
“We can wait no longer.”
Andrew turned to see anxiety written on Drusus’s face. “The sky grows darker, and aside from the storm, night will overtake us if we do not leave soon. We have given her hours.”
Simon and Andrew looked at each other, exchanging a silent message. Simon nodded. “You are right, Lord, we need to get the mistress moved soon. I will stay and wait for Abigail.”
Andrew threw back his shoulders.“I will stay.”
Drusus sighed. “Neither of you can stay. You will both be needed to carry Ester’s litter.”
Andrew ran his tongue over his teeth in thought. “Then we shall just leave her a note. The general promised he would help in any way he could; we will tell her to go to his house and ask one of his servants to accompany her to the inn.”