“Gather around lads and help me build the biggest bonfire seen this side of Jerusalem,” I called out to a group of friends passing by. I could see by the look in their eyes that they knew a story was in the making and by Abraham’s beard, did I have a whopper of a tale for them.

“Zed, why are you piling a bonfire taller than your stable barn?” my friend Isaac asked.

“Because it was the commission I was paid to take,” I answered, knowing full well I hadn’t answered him at all.

“Come, Zed, tell us who paid you the commission,” Saul exclaimed in exasperation.

“It was the commission of a Roman Centurion,” I said with a grin and by the look of shock on their faces, I knew then that I had them.

“May the bones of my ancestor’s climb out of their grave if you don’t explain yourself!” Isaac shouted.

“They won’t have to. This bonfire is a funeral pyre for the Roman Centurion.”

“What!” they all exclaimed together, nearly as one.

“Arcturus, I believe his name was. Arcturus, the Roman Centurion; a stranger fellow I dare say than anyone else I will ever meet.”

“But, but, a Roman?” James cried out in astonishment.

“I know, I know, I wouldn’t have believed it myself if one of you had told me last week I would be building a funeral pyre for a Roman, least of all a Roman Centurion. But he came up to me bold as Samson’s jawbone striking the head of a Philistine three days ago and asked me if I were the same Zedekiah who was as fair and firm a man as they come. He told me that he hadn’t heard of a more trustworthy soul this side of the Jordan River. Well, what could I say to that?

“He stood before me, as tall and as gaunt of figure as any dusty traveler who had crossed the sands of the great desert. His entire comportment looked old and tired. He asked me if I could arrange for a funeral pyre, for it would soon be time for him to join his ancestors in death. He offered me the last coins from his purse, which would have been enough to stay at my inn for many months, but I was in no mind to be generous, especially to a Roman, and I told him so.

“I’m not sure how it was possible for him to look even wearier than he already did, but even his eyes sagged after I told him it would cost him more than that for a good word from me. He slowly reached under his threadbare but otherwise well cared for tunic and took a gold ring from a strip of leather that he wore around his neck.” I pulled out the gold ring set with rubies from beneath my tunic and dangled it before the eyes of my friends.

“What could I say at such an offer, especially with my inn being as sorely used as these travelers come for census? Now you know how sorely tempted I must have been, but the question still remained of how I could assuage my conscience after consorting with Romans. He saw my indecision and offered himself to clean out my stables as well. What could I say? You know what my stables are like; no self-respecting animal would come within smelling distance. The image of a not so haughty Roman toiling in the muck of my stables brought a smile to my face. I told him if he would clear my stables that I would build his funeral pyre bright enough to be seen in Galilee. We shook hands, sealing our arrangement.

“Well, for the next three days, he toiled in my stables, far surpassing what I had supposed him capable of. He worked tirelessly, only stopping to rest briefly or to eat his meager rations. By the second day, as it looked like he was actually going to finish the stables, I told him I would feed him as long as he kept up that pace of work.

“At first, he merely accepted the food with a nod of his head, but this morning, he began to speak of his former life. He shared that he had once been a Centurion of some renown, with vineyards and houses in Hispania, Pompeii, and Corinth. He shared that all changed one fateful day in Gaul when barbarians attacked his cohort. His horse threw him at the battle’s onset, causing him to hit his head, losing consciousness. When he awoke, he discovered that his cohort had been slain to the last.

“For days he wandered in the wilderness befuddled, until he was found and taken in by a kind elderly farmer named Ben, who had lost all of his family to the barbarians. But as kind as he was, he was showing the frailty of age in his strange idea about there only being one god. So it was with some trepidation that Arcturus asked Ben if a message could be sent to Rome. Ben thought upon it and replied that when Arcturus was well enough, then a message could be sent, as long as his animals were fed while he was gone.

“Finally, Ben felt Arcturus was well enough to be left alone for the three-day journey to reach the closest Roman outpost. After Arcturus wrote a missive explaining all that had transpired, Ben made sure that Arcturus was left enough to eat for the week long round trip. The remainder of the day was spent instructing Arcturus in animal husbandry after which Ben decided to leave at first light the following day.

“Ben was gone before Arcturus awoke, and it felt strange being left alone in the cottage. For his entire life, people had always surrounded him. Servants waited on him at home and soldiers served under him in the field. After being alone for an entire day, Arcturus soon keenly felt the boredom of being left alone. He decided that just feeding the animals wasn’t enough, he wanted more to do. As his strength allowed, he remembered what he had seen servants do in the past, and started to clean up the farmer’s cottage. It was hard work at first, but as his strength returned, he took on more tasks. Eventually, he used what was left of his damaged leather armor to mend the animal pen and lent his helmet to repair the leaking bucket in the well.

“After Ben returned, it was decided that Arcturus would stay to help the remainder of the season, and then they would seek out what Rome would say to his message. Although it was hard work, Arcturus had become rather fond of Ben and the season passed quickly. Occasionally, the subject of Ben’s god would come up. Whenever Arcturus would ask how all of Rome and Greece could be mistaken about there only being one god, the farmer would always smile in a knowing way, as if Arcturus was a child, rather than a Roman Centurion.

“At season’s end, as promised, Ben escorted Arcturus to the outpost. Arcturus took a long pause and I could see the conflict in his face before he continued. Word had reached the outpost that not only were all of his holdings and possessions forfeit in reparation for the loss of his cohort, but he was summarily stripped of all positions and titles, including his service as a legionnaire. He had lost everything.

“In grief, he left Ben behind, and ran as fast as he could, losing himself in the deep forest. He fell prostrate on the ground and allowed his anguish to pour out. Finally, at long last, he decided that it would be better to fall on his sword, than to continue to live with dishonor. He closed his eyes while remaining on the ground and tried to pray to the gods of his childhood, but nothing came. All he could think of was of Ben’s god.

“Then, as he sat up, he discovered that he was surrounded by a bright light. He sprang to his feet and discovered that a young man stood before him with hair of fire, eyes like lightning, and glowing with a dazzling light.”

“An angel!” exclaimed Isaac. I nodded my head in agreement.

“Aye, that’s what I told him, and Arcturus fell quiet in contemplation. When he finally continued, he said that this angel spoke with a voice like thunder. He was given a message that if he were to travel east, even unto the troubled lands of Palestine, that he would have an opportunity to reclaim his honor and to save the life of the King.