The Panther

Therefore the Lord himself shall give you a sign; Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.

“Marcus, Marcus!” came the gruff voice of the centurion. Marcus quickly brushed his sweaty, blond hair away from his eyes as he shoved the corpse of a zealot to the ground. He jabbed his gladius once more through the young, Jewish man’s heart before turning his attention to his commander.

“Get your men together and meet me on top of the wall, quickly,” Linus, his centurion shouted amidst the clamor of fighting men. As an Optio, he was second in command to Linus Albus, the centurion in charge of the second eagle cohort stationed in Judea in the year 2 B.C.E. This was an era of drastic and dramatic change, with many in Rome putting their faith and trust in Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus, whom many in Rome referred to as filius dei or the son of god.

As Marcus shouted orders to his men, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was the type of world the son of god would create. As a good and dutiful soldier of Rome, he paid homage and due honor to the emperor and Mars, the god of war, but his heart was with the mystery cult of Mithras. Mithras taught the troops honor, glory, and fidelity, but above all, he promised to be with those who gave their lives in this life and the life to come.

The mystery of the baptism, the sacrament, and the redeeming message of the mystical words uttered at the altar reminded Marcus that he wasn’t just fighting for the glory of the empire. He did not know all that was meant by the mystery of Mithras, but he knew the coming age of Pisces would signal a dramatic shift in the minds of people all across the world. This fight in Judea mattered here and now, but soon everyone would see the mystery being revealed and some squabbles between Romans and Zealots would seem a distant memory.

At least, that was his hope.

For now, the Jewish zealots were spurred on by a desire to free their homeland, while he and his troops were driven by a desire to go home to their families. As he and his troops drove the last of the zealots out of the garrison and into the darkness of the night, Marcus paused to breathe as his troops pursued the invaders. His wife, Claudia, was back home, pregnant with their first child. He visited her four months ago, and after many nights of sweet embrace, she wrote to him, happily announcing the conception of their first child.

He smiled softly as he thought of her, and said a quick prayer of thanks to the gods for preserving him and his troops another night in the wild lands of Judea. He looked around at the piles of corpses littering the garrison as he helped his men clean up the mess and considered that these men may have families back home that they would never see again. But what was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to allow the chaos to consume the small glimmer of hope the Roman Empire spread to the darkest lands on earth? Allow these zealots to destroy and kill his men because of their consuming hatred?

He knew he could never allow that, and so he slaughtered, fought, and killed whoever threatened Pax Romana. The Roman Peace.

He gave orders for the corpses to be burned outside the wall and returned to his quarters. As he made an offering to Mithras and said a prayer for his wife back home, there was a quiet knock on his door. Knowing it was Linus Albus, he quickly turned to attention to face his commander.

“At ease there, Pius One,” his commander laughed quietly as he used the nickname his troops gave him because of his notorious piety and reverence for the gods. They believed their victories were often attributed to their leader’s god-fearing behavior, and thus, often thanked and teased him for his extreme behavior.

“How can I serve you, Centurion?” Marcus greeted his leader, pouring him a glass of wine and gesturing for him to be seated.

Lifting his hand, Linus declined the glass and Marcus could tell he was disturbed by something.

“Commander, what is it?” Marcus asked.

“Marcus,” Linus whispered, tears in his eyes. Marcus’ heart sank and he fell into one of the chairs, unable to stand. His mind immediately went to his wife who was staying at one of her relative’s homes in Sidon. He told her not to, he said it would be too dangerous, but she insisted on being closer to him.

“Please,” Marcus said, covering his eyes for shame. “Please don’t say it.”

“I’m so sorry, Marcus,” Linus whispered, his voice cracking. He had been through Hades with Marcus and felt his pain as his very own. He put his hand on the man’s shoulder and embraced him as Marcus let the tears roll down his cheeks. After weeping for what felt like forever, Marcus sat back and tried to take a deep breath and collect himself.

“How?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“She was in her carriage traveling with her brother,” Linus told him. “Vagabonds, rebels, and enemies of the empire attacked them. They killed your wife and your child. Your brother-in-law died trying to protect her.”

“By the gods,” Marcus sighed, unable to wrap his head around the horrific story. At first, his mind tried to envision the event, but he quickly shook the image from his mind. He couldn’t bear to see it yet. A million feelings washed over him in what felt like a split second, with numbness filling his limbs, and his heart breaking within his chest.

“Sir, I ask for leave to return to my father-in-law’s home in Sidon to care for my wife,” Marcus announced, standing tall, and trying to suppress his feelings.

“Son, go,” Linus Albus ordered, but not unkindly. “Do your duty to your family and give your wife safe passage to the gods and the River Styx. I pray, Hermes, Psychopompus, will have mercy on the soul of your wife, child, and brother-in-law.”

“Thank you,” Marcus bowed low before departing his tent. He gathered his few things and prepared his horse for the journey back home. Two soldiers volunteered to accompany him and were granted leave. Marcus was grateful for their companionship but felt that his heart was heavy and he could not speak. They rode straight through the night and the next day, only pausing briefly at a well for a drink of water.

Marcus waited by his horse as his soldier, Brutus, approached the well where Hebrew women gathered and spoke to one another. To his surprise, one of the young Hebrew women approached him, which was not permitted for a Jewish woman. He would have dismissed her, but there was something about her crisp blue eyes that surprised him and caught him off guard.

“Good sir,” she greeted him in Aramaic, bowing and keeping her eyes on the ground.

“What would you have with me?” he asked her, not intending to sound rude, but he had little love or compassion in his heart at that time.

“I saw that your eyes are heavy and your horse is tired,” she said to him. She held out the cup of water and a small loaf of bread.

“You should not share food with a gentile,” he told her, knowing the rules of her people.

“I love the Lord my God,” she told him simply. “And I feel him telling me to show that love to you right now. Please, take, drink, and eat. That is all I have to offer you.”

He felt deeply touched by this young woman’s small act of kindness. She was probably ten years younger than him, merely 14 years old, but her eyes held an old wisdom that reached far beyond her years. He saw that she was shaking slightly and couldn’t help but wonder if she was alright, but wasn’t sure how to ask her.

“Sir, do you believe the rumors?” she asked. He could not believe how open she was with speaking to him, but he decided there was no harm in engaging with her.

“Which rumors would that be, my lady?” he asked politely.

“The coming of the Messiah,” she told him. “Your people believe in the god of medicine, Aesclypius, correct?”

“My people call him Aesculapius, but yes I do have faith in him,” he told her, although his faith was wavering because of his wife’s sudden passing. “As the son of Apollo, he is the greatest of all healers. Some say, he can even raise the dead to life.”

“And, do you believe in Dionysus, being both man and god?” she asked, her eyes seeming to have a fire behind them.

“I do, maiden,” he admitted. “Dionysus is the son of Semele and Jupiter, greatest king of the gods and Olympus. Why do you ask these things, young Jewess?”

“Because…” she started but then her voice trailed off. “Because I want to know if there are some people left who believe in miracles.”

“The gods can do anything,” he admitted. “Faith is hard, but it is the only thing that allows us to see the reality behind the veil.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said with a bow.

“What is your name?” he asked, finding himself grasping her hand as she turned to leave. He immediately regretted it, knowing full well that Jewish women could not be touched by a gentile. He withdrew his hand, but one of the ladies standing a ways off saw it and began reprimanding her in Hebrew.

“Excuse me,” he asked her pardon.

“My name is Mary of the tribe of Judah, of the city of Nazareth,” she said quietly with a smile before turning and running to the elderly woman who was scolding her.

“Commander?” came the voice of Brutus.

“Yes?” Marcus asked, trying not to act like he just came out of a trance. He felt bewitched by the woman. Not in a sexual manner, but as if he had just stood in the presence of a goddess who demanded his reverence. But he did not know why.

“That Jew asked a lot of questions,” his other companion soldier, Alexandros, said.

“She was only curious,” he defended her. “I appreciate Jews who show a respectful interest in our beliefs and customs. Perhaps, we would do better in this region if we tried to understand their beliefs.”

“Sir, if I may be so bold, but I think the passing of your wife has clouded your judgment,” Brutus told him in a matter of fact voice.

“Perhaps,” Marcus sighed and they continued on in silence.

As they approached the home of Lucius Priscus, father of his wife, Marcus felt his soul sink. The humble home sat sadly amidst the other run down homes in the area of the city. He never should have allowed Claudia to come here. The dying lands of the East were no place for such a perfect being.

His father in-law, mother in-law, and other relatives and in-laws greeted him and brought him inside. He felt like a phantom going through the motions as they washed his feet and prepared him for the ceremony.

“She loved you,” Marta, Claudia’s mother said to him as she helped him wash his face. She was dressed in all black, with her beautiful hair hidden behind a veil. She smiled amidst her tears and she finished getting him a robe so he had something clean to wear.

“Where is she?” he asked quietly.

She has been prepared for burial, all wrapped and the oils anointing her skin,” Marta told him as she left the chamber. “But we did not bury her yet. We knew you would come and she would want to say goodbye to you.”

“Thank you, mother,” he said, bowing and hoping to hide his tears. She left him and he finished dressing to visit her body.

“Mithras, if it be your will, take this burden from me,” he wept at the family’s altar before going to see his wife. “Please, bring her back to me. I failed her, and do not deserve your mercy, but please bring her back.”

To his disappointment, he was not met by a great earthquake or the sky opening up. He was only met by silence. He prayed to Aesculapius, Dionysus, Hermes, and Persephone as well, begging for her soul and the soul of his child to have safe passage. But again, he felt their silence and distance from him.

He never felt so far from the gods then when he stood before the body of his beloved wife. He could not even see her face, because it was already wrapped up for burial. He knelt down before her and wept and wept until he passed out and slept, his head on her dead bosom. He dreamt that she stood before him, about to enter the boat of Charon. She looked at him sadly as she turned to Charon, took the coin from under her tongue, and paid her passage to the afterlife.

He watched sadly as she drifted off into the darkness. He stood there in the shade of death, until he felt a tug at his cloak. Looking down, he spotted a young man with blonde hair like his own, but his eyes were piercingly blue like the young woman’s at the well. He smiled up at him and said, “Father.”

“Are you the son of flesh?” asked Marcus, kneeling down beside the youth. But one look in the child’s eyes told him all he needed to know: this child was not his own.

“I am not a child of the flesh, father,” the boy said with a laugh that seemed to echo in the empty chambers of death. “But I call you father because of your earthly love for me.”

“I was going to name you Augustus, after our great emperor,” Marcus said, his eyes full of tears.

“No, father, for my kingdom shall not be of this world,” the young man smiled. “My kingdom is the kingdom of God and those who enter will not taste death.”

“Son, you speak blasphemy in the halls of Hades,” Marcus rebuked him.

“Do not be so fearful, father,” the boy rebuked him. “The gods, or God, is on your side. Find my mother at the well, protect her, and I will visit you again in Sidon. You will know me by my words and by those who greet me, saying: “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.”

“I do not understand,” Marcus told the boy, but he only grinned back before turning to leave. Marcus looked up and beheld Hermes, transmitter of souls, standing in wait for the boy. But he did not take him down Styx, rather, the two vanished together and Marcus awoke, alone in the chamber of his in-laws. His wife and child were buried and he had nothing left but sorrow and pain.

Marcus could not rest, nor could he sleep, so he decided to go for a walk on the outskirts of the city. As he wandered, without direction, he stumbled upon the well once again where he met Mary.He thought about her, and about the words of the boy in his dream. Was that his boy, or someone else’s boy? Why did he visit him and call him father, if he was not his child?

“Hello,” he heard a woman’s voice from behind him. He felt his heart jump and turned to see the young woman from earlier standing before him. She had a small donkey with her, with a small satchel strapped to the back, and she stood smiling at him.

“Wh-what are you doing out here at this hour?” He nearly scolded her.

“I am leaving, sir,” she said, her eyes looking down at the ground.

“My name is Marcus,” he told her, feeling like formality and titles did not matter anymore. Nothing, not even Rome mattered anymore. “Why are you leaving? It is not safe.”

“Hello, Marcus,” she said with a small bow. “I must leave. It is not safe for me or my child here. I must follow the voice of my God and go to Egypt.”

“Egypt?” Marcus asked in shock. “Do you have any idea how far that is from here, and how dangerous the path will be for you?”

“I do,” she sighed. “But it is where my God told me to go, Marcus. You understand, yes? Your wife understood what it meant to have a duty bigger than people and bigger than empires. She told you this before.”

Marcus swallowed hard, in utter shock at her words. How did this young woman know the words his wife spoke to him on their wedding night?

“You knew my wife?” he asked in shock. “How-how did you know her words, and how did you know she died?”

“Because you are sad and afraid,” Mary told him in a kind voice. “I am too.”

Marcus struggled within himself as he weighed the words of the boy in his dream. He told him that he must come to this well, and without thinking about it, that’s exactly where he went and met this strange young girl.

“What are you fleeing?” Marcus asked.

“My father and my betrothed, Joseph,” she told him. “If they learn what has happened, they will surely kill me. Worse, they will kill the Messiah.”

“What do you mean?” Marcus asked in shock.

“No one would ever believe me, but I am pregnant with the child promised to us,” she said, tears in her eyes. “I was told by a messenger from God. I can’t stay though. They will kill me. So, I must leave and trust that God will care for me.”

Something within Marcus stirred, and he knew he had to take her to Egypt. He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew she was telling the truth and this was the message the boy in his dreams shared with him. He was still on leave from his duties, so without hesitation, he told Mary he would take her himself.

Although she protested, he insisted and would not take no for an answer. He returned home, said goodbye to his in-laws, explaining he needed to go to the ancient land of Egypt in search of a message. They did not understand, but respected him, telling him to go with the blessings of the gods.

Mary was shocked, but the two departed together, a spectacle by all who saw them. But it did not matter, because they knew they were doing the will of their gods. And, for Marcus, he knew his wife wanted him to do this. In a strange way, it felt as though their child was within this odd woman from Nazareth.

After a long and tedious journey across deserts and battling rogues on the roadways, they arrived in Egypt. The land of magic and ancient hidden wisdom.

“Out of Egypt have I called my son,” Mary uttered as her eyes fell upon the majestic pyramids only a few miles away.

Marcus set her up in a home and gave her some money and a bill of marriage. He had no desire to be with her as a wife, but he knew this was the only way to protect her.

“Now, you and your son will have the protection of Rome,” he told her. “I am stationed in Judea, under the leadership of Linus Albus. Find me and write to me if you should ever need me or the protection of Rome.”

She smiled and gave him a hug.

“Thank you,” she said. “The Lord protect you and keep you.”

“You too,” he said. “Give your son my last name, Pantera, so he will have legal protection. Goodbye, Mary.”

The years passed, and Marcus grew in the ranks of the military. He was a valiant and brave man, who became known more and more by his last name, Pantera.

His men would chant “Pantera! Pantera!” whenever he entered a room. He never remarried and kept the legal marriage to the obscure woman he met at the well. She wrote to him only twice, telling him of the birth of her son, Jesus Ben Pantera, and another time to tell him they were living in Nazareth.

She asked him to visit one day, but something within him felt unworthy of seeing this boy again outside of his dreams.

And from thence he arose, and went into the borders of Tyre and Sidon, and entered into an house, and would have no man know it: but he could not be hid.

Then, Pantera grew older and was badly injured in battle. He was brought back to his family’s home in Sidon to be nursed back to health, but his health was not improving. He began coughing up blood and looked at the ceiling of his room as he felt himself fading.

“Oh, Mithras, you have never forsaken me, nor my men,” he prayed quietly. “I await to meet you in the afterlife. Do not forget me, nor my family.”

As he was fading in and out of consciousness, he heard people clamoring outside his window, singing, “Blessed is he who comes in the Name of the Lord.”

Suddenly, Marcus Pantera felt the urge to stand and go outside. He remembered the words of the boy in his sleep. What could this mean? As he struggled to sit up right, his nursemaid entered and said, “Excuse me, sir, but a man named Jesus said he must see you. Shall I send him away?”

“No, please,” Marcus could barely speak without coughing. “Please, tell him to enter.”

She bowed and left to get the man. Marcus Pantera felt like his heart was going to crack. Would he finally meet the boy Mary said was to be the Messiah? Was he going to meet the boy who visited him at his wife’s grave?

“Father, greetings,” a young man, probably thirty years of age, entered the room. He had distinctive blue eyes like his mother, and his wavy black hair hung around his ears, highlighting his bright face.

“My lord,” Marcus whispered, feeling an awe fill his stomach. He felt like he could barely sit upright before this young man. A tear fell down his cheek. It was the boy in his dream.

“Father, I promised I would see you in Sidon,” he said softly, touching Marcus and sitting beside him. As his hand touched his back, Marcus felt the pain leaving his body.

“You are most faithful, Marcus Pantera,” Jesus said kindly. “My mother spoke highly of you.”

“You know I am not truly your father, don’t you?” Marcus said, still crying but unsure as to why.

“Who is my mother, my brother, my sister, my father?” Jesus asked with a dismissive laugh. “Those who do the will of the Father in Heaven. You saved me, and now, I shall redeem all. You have faithfully served righteously your whole life, praying, fasting, and living in holiness. What do you wish, Marcus Pantera? If you wish, you may spring forth from this bed well again.”

“No,” Marcus Pantera coughed, laying back down again. “I am old and weary of living. Knowing you will fulfill the will of the gods is all I need to know to sleep in peace.”

“So be it, Father,” Jesus nodded, kissing his forehead. Marcus could feel a tear hit his cheek as he faded out of consciousness. “Go, be with your family. I will do the will of my Father in heaven, as you have done the duty of a father on earth.”

Marcus felt his mind go dark, and then, a bright light shone, illuminating a field.

“Welcome, my love,” came the familiar voice of his wife, Claudia. “I’ve waited these many years.”