The Witnesses

Tobias stood in the large room, gazing around at the splendour. Jathniel watched him, concerned. His eyes were still red and watery. It had taken over half an hour to make sense of the jumbled words that spluttered out erratically through the sobs.

“Alright Tobias,” Jathniel gently prised the child’s fingers from his clothes; his heart felt like it was being ripped apart. “I’m going to be just through that door.” When the hiccups started again, he dropped to one knee, “Tobias, you never killed him!”

“Jathniel, the Centurion waits,” the soldier behind him hissed.

Ignoring him, Jathniel gripped the lad’s shoulders desperate to connect, “Do you hear me? You never killed him!”

The hiccups deepened and a tear rolled miserably down the boy’s tanned cheek. “But I...I could have st-stopped it,” Tobias gasped, suddenly lunging at Jathniel and engulfing him in a strangle-hold embrace.

“What’s going on?” The Centurion appeared abruptly, expression impatient as he surveyed the pair.

With his face buried in Jathniel’s neck, Tobias wept, “I’ve stolen, I’ve cheated, I’ve lied, but I never wanted to be a murderer! Never!”

The Centurion’s brow furrowed, “Speak up, what’s the matter!”

Jathniel stayed where he was, “This is the lad I was telling you about, Sir. Without him I never would have gathered so much information. At the moment he’s just a little upset.”

“Is this to do with the Nazarene?” the Centurion queried sternly.

“Yes,” Jathniel affirmed.

“Then come,” the Centurion spun on his heels abruptly and marched through the doorway.

Jathniel hastily leapt up and tugged the boy after him as he followed the Centurion into the room. The Centurion stalked to the end of room, arms behind his back. “Speak!”

Holding the boy in front of him, Jathniel went straight to the point, knowing from experience that waffle was not Cornelius’ forte.

“Jesus of Nazareth is a miracle worker. There is something about him that attracts many people.” He paused, waiting. The Centurion remained with his back to them, head down, listening. And then his hand flicked up, gesturing for Jathniel to continue.

“Many grow angry because of the controversial things he teaches, yet-“ Jathniel’s voice trailed off, wondering how best to word this as he thought of the crowds of broken people that were drawn to the compassion of the Nazarene.

“Yet?” the Centurion spun around, uncompromising and intense.

For the first time, seeing the hardened Centurion before him, Jathniel wondered if he was making a mistake. Was he, in effect, signing Jesus’ death warrant?

“Speak soldier!”

A small hand grasped at Jathniel’s where it rested on the lad’s shoulder, begging Jathniel to consider his words.

“This Jesus is a good man, Sir. The crowds come to him from all over, broken people...” he echoed his thoughts, “broken inside and out. He heals – heals with such compassion and love.”

The Centurion stepped forward, eyes boring into Jathniel. “And you, soldier, is this your view of him?”

Under the scrutinising gaze, Jathniel almost faltered, but the boy’s tightened grip gave him the courage he needed to speak what he was only beginning to realise, “I’ve never met anyone like him, Sir.” For a moment longer the Centurion studied him and then abruptly jerked his head at Tobias.

“And what is his problem?”

Defensive, Jathniel tried to remain diplomatic, “The prophet John is dead. The boy believes he is to blame.”

“And is he?” the Centurion circled the pair thoughtfully, his slow footsteps sounded hollow in the almost empty room.

“No Sir.”

“This John meant a lot to you boy?” the Centurion’s gaze was penetrating.

Tobias nodded, eyes still watering and mouth trembling.

“And this Jesus?”

“He is the Son of God,” the words popped from Tobias’ mouth without warning.

“The Son of God?” for the first time the Centurion’s impassive face showed genuine interest and surprise, his searching gaze flicking up to Jathniel’s face. “What proof do you have to make such a statement?”

Tobias looked up, confused, “He just is, same as I’m a boy and Jathniel’s a Roman.”

“Intriguing,” the Centurion placed his hands back behind his back and strolled slowly around them one more time before nodding, “I will see you tomorrow at noon to talk further on this, you are dismissed.”

Grabbing Tobias’ shoulder firmly in one hand, Jathniel propelled him from the room, mind churning anxiously as he wondered how he would cope if Cornelius decided to interrogate Jesus; Tobias’s already fragile little life would crumble.