The Centurion
Septimus wanted nothing more than water, water to drink, then enough to squander on a bath. He knew that every one of the seventy-eight men that marched behind him wanted the same and would have given a month's wages to drink liberally.
They were in the midpoint of the day's march through arid lands and had passed a huddle of family dwellings which appeared lifeless in the noon heat. It became obvious some time ago that such dwelling were indeed occupied. Sizable rocks often came hurtling toward them if they came too close to the house or well. Septimus had learned to listen for the hum of the slingshots the locals used quite effectively. Two of his men had been fatally wounded thus far. He didn't have time for casualties, nor could he afford to lose well trained legionaries. He would have liked to find the wielders of those slings and favor them with an exemplary lashing in return for the trouble they caused. That should convince the zealots to behave with a little more hospitality. But such incentive was out of the question. He was under orders not to disturb the fragile peace unless a direct and all out assault occurred. There was no knowing when it would happen, but it was sure to.
As the centurion marched he looked ahead into the undulating heat rising from the road. A couple of hazy figures dotted the horizon. Until he knew otherwise he would consider them zealots. Where there were two rebels, there were likely to be twenty or one hundred. He turned a careful eye to the terrain. A dozen opportunities to camouflage an ambush presented. He ordered his men to raise shields. The unit did so without missing a step.
Before long Septimus could see the travelers walking toward him clearly. They were adolescents.
Poised to give deadly orders, the commander held his right hand up and the soldiers behind him came to a halt as once. His gaze darted from the two boys several yards away to the rocky hidings round about. It was likely that while his attention was given to the youths, the hidden enemy would attack. Septimus became aware he was already distracted, focusing on the water skin one of them had slung over his shoulder. It would be commandeered.
In perfect Latin the older of the two greeted the centurion as properly as would anyone under his authority.
"Ave, Centurio."
The youth reached slowly for the water skin his younger companion carried.
"Aqua, Praeceptorem?" The lad walked toward him with outstretched hand offering the water.
Septimus was fastened where he stood, his arms weighted at his side, strangely transfixed by the Israelite boy. While he stared, the lad unstopped the mouth of the water skin. The centurion held out cupped hands to receive a measured drink while his intention had been to take what he pleased. The cool water flowed through his fingers and down his chest as he drank. There was no end to it. He filled his belly with water sweeter than he remembered tasting while in the Judean Province. The front of his tunic was drenched. He expected that the boy had poured out the entire contents of the skin for his refreshment. He would give him a few copper pieces for his subjugant kindness.
When he lowered his hands and opened his eyes no one stood before him. The water bearing lad was making his way through the ranks with the bursting vessel. Helmets were filled. The men dipped hands into what ever receptacle held their share and bathed their faces. The ground at their feet could no longer hold the excess and rivulets trickled away into the surrounding parched earth. Laughter broke out. The officer heard snatches of conversation as the boy called the legionaries by name. All the while water was everywhere. The slave that led the baggage mule had been ministered to. Even the mule was drinking from a bucket. Most of the men were engrossed in the affair. A few of them at the head of the ranks began to look as mystified as Septimus felt.
The other lad, presumably a brother, rested in the wet sand nearby. The Centurion looked quizzically at the child, having no other source for an answer to the enigma. His unvoiced question was met by an unimpressed shrug of the shoulders and a few simple words in Aramaic which translated, "He does this."
By this time the banter all around gave way to silent awe. The last laughter to fade came from the young man with water dripping from his dark temple ringlets. Still smiling, the son of Neptune put a finger to his lips hushing Septimus before he could speak. The officer obeyed. What else was one to do when given orders by a son of the gods? He watched as the two Israelite youths each took up their burdens again, a cart loaded with wood, and a full water skin.
Septimus had seen wonders being well traveled, but none compared to this. If he told any thinking person what had just taken place, they'd call him delusional if they were inclined to be charitable.