Centurion Witness – Chapter 1 – Amazon #1 Bestseller

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While his horse and mule drank their fill, the Roman officer stripped off his tunic and washed the sweat and stench from his body. Finished, he lifted his loincloth and peeled the damp dust-crusted bandage from around his right leg. Each time he shook the linen cloth loose, he grimaced. As he finally uncovered the swollen lump a hand width below his beltline, he yelled. “Aaaaa!”

Using vinegar, as the doctor had told him, he wiped away a slow-moving finger of gray pus. The smell is worse, he thought, stepping back and fanning his arm to chase away the foul odor.

When the animals began jerking their reins, looking for forage, he dressed and guided the mounts beyond the palm trees, limping from the stabbing pain in his right thigh.

Up a short brush-choked path, they passed through a gap in the rock cliff just wide enough for a horse to squeeze through. There, he would only have to confront a single enemy at a time if things went poorly.

With his animals hobbled and fed, he tossed rocks away from the spot where he would rest. Then the Roman positioned his fighting gear, almost like a ritual, in case he needed some of the items in a hurry.

He began by setting down his brass-alloy fighting helmet. His belt with sword and battle-ax followed along with his plate-metal shirt. Then he laid his three-foot-long, oval shield face-down on the ground so he could quickly slip his arm into the leather holding straps. Tugging, he verified each metal-piercing javelin was snuggly hooked to the interior sides of the shield. Finally, he set down his bow and quiver filled with twenty arrows.

But he kept his hob-nailed sandal boots on, including the razor-sharp dagger strapped above his right ankle.

Satisfied, he placed a small clay idol by his rag of a pillow and prayed to the goddess Disciplina for peaceful rest. Sleep came quickly but his prayers were not answered. Soon the image returned that had haunted him since the bloody ambush near the Arabian village.

The woman with glowing eyes chased him through dark narrow streets, getting closer with each stride. When she began hurling fire at him and howling, he knew he could not escape.

The centurion jerked awake partially from the nightmare and partially from shouts by people.

Opening his eyes, he was surprised to see two brown and white goats in the gap a few feet from him. He was about as surprised as the animals, staring at him with faces appearing to wonder why he was in their way. Peppered by a handful of pebbles the animals ran back to the oasis.

Careful to not be seen, the army officer slowly raised up and looked over the nearby bushes. Below and off to his right, men were watering a large mixed herd of sheep and goats. Straight ahead, the women and girls had set up a large tent and were unloading cooking items from a cart pulled by an ox. Several families.

Coming down the road to his left, young boys hurried toward the late-afternoon camp with baby lambs slung across their shoulders. Little ones that had tired and not been able to keep up with their mothers.

Unconcerned, he started to lay down. But he stopped after spotting a nearly transparent smudge of dust drifting out of a gully a half-mile away. When a string of fifteen riders on camels charged out of the dry streambed toward the oasis, the Roman grabbed his fighting gear. Bandits!

By the time he crawled through the gap carrying his shield and battle ax, the sword-waving camel-riders arrived. Three immediately forced the women out of the tent. Meanwhile, all but one of the other bandits dismounted and threatened to slash the men if they did not do as they were told.

Moving silently down the trail to the tent, the centurion considered what he was doing. Better to die doing the right thing than live with what I did in the desert.

The lone rider angled his camel toward the cowering herdsmen. “Quiet! Or I will tie you up and let the jackals tear you apart tonight!” The apparent leader of the troop pointed his curved saber at the oldest herdsman.  “You owe my tribe tribute for crossing our land. I will leave you a sheep and take the rest of the animals.”

“We will starve to death if you do that,” the old man replied.

The rider waved his hand. “I understand. As a kindness, I will leave you two sheep.” The other thieves laughed.

Behind the leader, a pregnant woman was dragged out of the tent. She started screaming as two men forced her onto her back followed by the third one kicking her legs apart.

“Take all our animals,” the old herdsman pleaded. “But do not harm my family.”

The leader sheathed his sword and looked around. “Where are your guards?” When the cowering men lowered their heads, the bandit smiled. “Jews, you should have hired bowmen before moving to new grazing fields.”

The old man held up his hands. “Please sir, we are just poor shepherds. My granddaughter is with child. I beg you to set her free.”

“Do not try to fool me about who you are. You oversee your rich master’s land, assembled from poor bankrupt farmers. Only a few of these animals are yours — Yes?

“I do what I have to, to protect my family and their plots of land. Now, I will become your slave if you do not harm our women.”

The bandit shook his head. “You would not make a decent slave.” He pointed at one of the boys. “But that young one might. So too, the one next to him.”

At the end of the narrow trail, the tent hid the centurion from view by the three men threatening the woman on the ground. Surprise will give me some advantage. He rose and raced around the tent toward the men.