"No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends."
~ John 15:13

The last enemy to be destroyed is death.
~ 1 Corinthians 15:26

Capella had a solid reason for not believing that Jesus was a god: he had seen the man himself, witnessed his suffering and death in Jerusalem. That had been a good thirty or so years previous; he'd been a young soldier then, in his late teens or early twenties.

He heard the Jewish priests mock the man as he awaited death. "Let the so-called Messiah come down from that cross; then we'd believe him!" To Capella, the fact that Jesus had not done so proved his powerlessness, his human frailty, his mortality. He hadn't seen a god; he had only seen a condemned criminal, a broken man.

Not that his own heart hadn't felt a weight that day. He had been secretly glad that he was not the soldier assigned to nail Jesus' wrists and feet to the wooden cross; he had discreetly averted his eyes when the metal pierced flesh and bone. Capella was not hardened; he felt some pity for the criminals' suffering. But he did not let it bother him, because he was doing his duty as a Roman soldier, and these men had received the fate they knew would come to them for their crimes.

Capella never knew Tacticus personally, but he heard rumors about the man before and after he was promoted to be a centurion. He had to replace Tacticus, who had gone into hiding after denouncing Caesar's divinity and openly proclaiming his belief in Jesus Christ. Some rumors said that he had fought Nihilus during his escape, but no one could confirm this, and no one dared to ask Nihilus if he'd failed in apprehending the man.

Tacticus and Miriam's disappearance gave the Praetorian guard an excuse to crack down on the Jewish-Christian community that they knew existed in Rome. The Miller confirmed this when Capella questioned him about the suspicious Baker he had encountered on the road; he'd known that they must be guilty, given the way they tried so hard to outrun him and sabotage his chariot.

Capella didn't appreciate being given baby-sitting duty, while they waited for the Baker to turn himself in. He paced across the kitchen, wondering what to make of the situation. These boys and their foster mother would be killed; but it was in the Baker's power to prevent this by giving himself up. And Nihilus even gave the children the chance to save themselves. (Truthfully, Capella didn't know how sincere Nihilus was in his offer to help the children find their parents, but the fact that he offered them such a chance was still something.) They condemned themselves by resolving not to reveal any information. Capella wondered if this was due to their ignorance as children or their blind faith as Christians.

Somehow, bafflingly, the family was able to escape; but they left behind them a map to the Catacombs, the key that the Praetorians had been lacking all this time. When they raided the underground network, most of the Christians hiding there escaped, but they were able to capture five, including the now-notorious Ben the Baker.

The Baker was a fool; he seemed to wish for death. As Capella heard it described afterwards, at his trial he had very nearly been released and the court dismissed; but then he had openly admitted to being a Christian leader, as if he wanted to be given credit for his illicit occupation.

Capella told the prisoners of his own memories of Jesus' death, in an attempt to convince them that their faith was foolish, and that they would be better off divulging the information that would save their lives. He was practically doing them a favor, telling them they had a chance of surviving if they did as he advised.

But the condemned Baker surprised him by trying to tell the story himself. Here was a second-hand source trying to fill in the holes of an eyewitness' account!

It was a little unnerving, how the Baker knew details that Capella had long since forgotten, but which he instantly recalled when they were mentioned. There had been words exchanged between Jesus and the two other prisoners; there had been some grieving women present at Golgotha; and there had been a storm that day. Still, these details were unimportant in the grand scheme of the story; the point, Capella asserted, was that Jesus had died, ending his life's story, and guaranteeing death for everyone blind enough to follow him that far.

Capella was annoyed when Ben insisted on finishing the story. But the fact that the starving prisoner (who had obviously had quite an appetite as a baker) was willing to put off eating his new rations told him that this was important, at least in the Baker's mind.

Was Capella interested in what he had to say? Even he didn't know. But he did feel some disappointment when the Baker's friends and family stormed the stockade and left him bound like a prisoner himself. The centurion and the Baker heard Nihilus' shouted threat. "I'm warning you, Capella! If the Baker escapes, it will cost you your life!"

They both knew that Nihilus meant what he said. "I guess I won't get to hear that story after all," Capella said. It was about the only thing he had to lose by dying; he had no family or friends in this world who needed him or would miss him.

If he was surprised when the Baker cut him loose, he was even more shocked when he handed him back his sword and stayed behind while while the other Christians escaped.

Capella didn't understand it. The Baker could have set him free and still escaped on his own; but he had chosen to stay behind, knowing he would be killed if he did. It was one thing for the Baker to save his life; it was another thing to forfeit his own.

He was starting to think that the Baker was more than misguided; he must be downright crazy, to be so cheerful and kind when he was so close to brutal death. On the carriage ride out of the stockade, the Baker finally related the rest of the story. Capella again recalled Jesus' female disciples, and the centurion who had shown remorse and concluded that Jesus had been the Son of God.

Then came the part that Capella hadn't known: that the tomb had been found empty, three days after that fateful Friday. He was dubious that the women could have seen an angel; but the fact that the disciples had had their own doubts and went to investigate the empty tomb seemed to make it more real. And then, when she was alone, Mary of Magdala had seen Jesus Himself, and told the disciples so.

Capella was amazed, if somewhat doubtful. Now he was starting to understand why Tacticus would have forsaken his position because of these stories. The idea, the hope, that there was a God so powerful that He could raise people from the dead—not even Nero claimed to have that power, much less tried to exercise it.

"Baker. Do you believe this story?"

The man smiled. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't. The question is: do you?"

Capella didn't have time to decide just then, because Nihilus informed him of a change in plans. A trap had been laid for the Baker's friends in the Circus Maximus; the actual executions would be by crucifixion—just like the death of Jesus.

Already Capella felt conflicted. He knew how painful such a death would be. Would Nero really order that on a woman and children? But there wasn't much he could do.

Then Nihilus gave him the "honor" of nailing the prisoners to their crosses, starting with Ben the Baker. Through his shock, Capella could feel the weight of the nails and wooden mallet in his hands.

He owed Ben his life (and possibly his afterlife). He couldn't kill this man. Besides, how could he punish someone for doing the very thing he was starting to do, believing in the Christ?

As he gazed down at the man, Ben spoke up quietly. "I know you don't have a choice, Capella; it's all right. I'm going to be with my Lord." Even at the point of death, the Baker was willing to forgive him.

Capella made a decision, then: he was done taking orders from Nero and Nihilus. He would take orders from a power higher than their narrow minds could comprehend. He would save the man who had saved him.

"Yes," Capella agreed, "you will. But not today." With that he turned to Nero's palanquin and shoved it over on its side; that would distract most of the servants for a few minutes. Then he cut Ben loose from the cross, and met Nihilus readily when the Praetorian guard turned on him.

"You just signed your death warrant!" Nihilus snarled.

"Some things are worse than dying." That was what Ben had told Capella, just that morning. Capella had argued that nothing was worse than death; but now he saw that he had been wrong.

"Death is no longer my enemy, Nihilus. You are." He meant it, too. But that didn't keep him from feeling fear when Nihilus knocked his sword out of his hand, cornering him against a tree.

Somehow he was able to think through the pain when Nihilus stabbed his side. (Hadn't Jesus received a stab wound in the same place? It had been overshadowed by the wounds in his wrists and feet.) The escapees didn't forget him; the carriage swung around to pick him up, even risking Nihilus boarding to attack them. The smallest child, Marcus, knocked him off with the very mallet that had been meant to kill them. The group was safe. But Capella could feel the pain in his side worsening, knew that something vital was bleeding internally, and realized that he was dying.

As he sat in the carriage, Capella tried praying to the Hebrew God for the first and last time in his life. Lord—Jesus—Whoever You are—forgive me for what I did to these people. Let them escape. Let them keep telling these stories.

He fainted onto the floor, but felt Ben's hands supporting him. When he looked up, he saw concern on the faces of the people he had been assigned to kill, but had chosen to save. They were genuinely afraid of losing him. That was more love than he'd felt in a long time.

"You saved us, Capella."

The centurion looked at him, thoughtful and grateful despite his sadness. "No. You saved me, Ben." It was the only time Capella ever called him by his name. He hoped Ben knew that he understood—that he didn't have to fear death anymore; that death was no longer final; that he could hope to live again with God. Such were his thoughts as consciousness left him for the last time.