I have no clue what the praetorium looked like.

Chapter 4

Before Pilate

Kat didn't know how long she knelt and cried. The long, worry full night without sleep was telling deeply on her. Exhausted and sick at heart, she was unable to stop the sobs that shook her body without mercy. She cried until her throat ached and all her tears were gone, her eyes and cheeks felt hot and swollen and her nose ran.

Someone laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Come little one," her guardian said quietly. The angel's strong face was gentle. "The Lord is before Pilate."

Kat stared up at him for a moment. A slight tremor went through her body. "Can I go to him? Oh please," she rose unsteadily to her feet, taking hold of the angel's sleeve," please will you take me to him?"

He nodded. "Are you sure you want to see this, little one? You know what will happen."

Kat clenched her fists anxiously at her sides. "Does it have to happen? Can't there be some other way? There must be some other way."

"The sin debt must be paid," his voice showed no emotion but his face was hard.

Kat looked down. "Can't someone else do it?" She looked up, cautiously hopeful. "Maybe me? Could I take his place? Oh please, I can't just stand by and watch them kill him," tears trembled in her eyes.

"An omission against an infinite god requires infinite contrition, something you cannot give and you are blemished. Only the perfect Lamb of God could pay this debt," the angel looked away for a moment. "It isn't easy to stand by, but you do and so you must."

"But-"

"Do you want to go home?"

Kat looked down. "No," she whispered. "If it has to happen, then I will be with him," she bit her lip in steely resolve.

Her guardian nodded his smile gentle. "Then come with me." He put a protective arm around Kat.

The ground tilted violently.

They stood in a large marble hall. Kat turned quickly, and saw Jesus on the floor at the feet of a man in a scarlet cloak. It was Pilate.

He struck Kat as arrogant; looking slightly bored as he surveyed the man at his feet. Kat's heart ached at the sight of Jesus, tears springing back to her sore eyes.

"I'm here," she whispered. "I won't leave you."

Jesus turned his head slightly to look at her. A smile crossed his bruised face. Kat swallowed hard, blinking against the tears. He was being betrayed and denied, facing torture and death and he was trying to comfort her.

"Jesus," Kat whispered, raising her hands and taking a step forward.

Her guardian grasped her shoulder, gentle but firm. "You may not go to him Kat. You must stand and watch."

Kat stared into the depthless eyes of her Lord, seeing a love she could never return completely and a pain that she could not take away. She crumpled to the floor, weeping.

Jesus turned his head back to Pilate.

"Are you the king of the Jews?" The roman asked.

"Are you saying this on your own, or have others told you?"

Pilate laughed. "I am no Jew. Your own nation and High Priests have delivered you here, what have you done to deserved this."

Jesus looked down. "My kingdom is not of this world," he said," for if it were, my people would be fighting to save me. As it is, my kingdom is not here."

I'd fight for you Jesus. Kat leapt to her feet but the angel caught her.

"No Kat, you must watch."

"Then you are king?" Said Pilate, amused.

"You are right in saying I am a King," Jesus said quietly, looking up to meet Pilate's eyes and the roman was forced to look away. "For this reason I was born and for this reason I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone on the side of truth listens to me."

"What is truth," asked Pilate and then went out to the Jews, of whom a great crowd had assembled.

"I find no basis for the charge against him," he shouted out over the restless crowd. "But it is your custom for me to release one prisoner at the time of Passover. Shall I release the "king of the Jews" for you?"

But the chief priests and elders had made their way among the peoples, convincing them to ask for another.

"Barabbas," the cry went up. "We want Barabbas!!!"

Pilate frowned and then walked back inside.

Kat held tightly to her guardian's hand. "He will release him, won't he?" She entreated. "Pilate said that he didn't find anything against him," she looked up at her angel, pleading with him to deny what was happening.

The angel remained silent.

"Oh God," Kat whispered through her tears," why does He let him do this?"

Pilate came back to Jesus and stood looking at the man on the floor for a long moment. Finally, he straightened and signaled one of the guards. "Scourge him."

* * * * * * * *

The soldiers striped Jesus of his clothes and bound him roughly to a post. The entire cohort assembled to watch, and to jeer at this foolish Jew.

The roman legionnaire stepped forward and Kat caught her breath at the sight of the horrible looking whip in his hand.

"It's called a flagellum," her guardian said.

"They aren't really going to hurt him with that are they?" Kat asked. The angel did not meet her eyes. "But they can't!?!" She cried. "They can't hurt him. He's the Son of God! He's the Christ! He's. . . He's. . ." Her voice trailed off helplessly. Her eyes filled with tears. "He's Jesus. . ."

The flagellum, a short whip, consisted of several leather thongs with two lead balls attached to the ends of each.

The scourging began. The roman was strong, the bulging muscles in his arm standing out as he raised the whip above his head and then brought it down into Jesus' back. Again and again, it was brought down swiftly and without mercy into the back of the man. At first, it did not break the skin but raised huge bruises, mottled purple and yellow. Finally, the bruises broke and he bled from the cuts.

Whomp, whomp, again and again the sound like a stick striking a flank of meat.

The whip cut deeper into the back, into the muscles themselves. Blood, the deep red of when it comes flooding, flowed from his back. It oozed from the raw muscles.

The roman was without mercy, not stopping until Jesus' back was an unrecognizable mass of torn, bleeding tissue. Raw flesh, raw nerve endings. . .

Kat was screaming. She had stood dumb and mute, until his flesh broke open. She threw herself forward, screaming anger and hatred. Her guardian did not stop her as she jumped at the roman legionnaire, her fingers curled into claws, reaching for his throat.

She slammed into an invisible wall, interposed between herself and the roman. Dazed but not hurt, she got up and stared. The roman, who obvious could not see her, brought the whip down over Jesus' shoulders. Jesus staggered against the post, breathing hard as warm sticky blood trickled down his back.

Kat stared; trying to convince herself that this was a nightmare. "No. . ." With a scream that cut straight to the bone, she through herself against the wall, beating at it wildly with her fists, kicking it, anything to knock it down, to get through to him.

Jesus. . .

She would choke the life out of the roman with that whip, make him think a couple times before he ever went near Jesus again. She'd save Jesus, bandage up his wounds, put him to bed for a couple days. Her guardian would help, John would help, but God wouldn't let her. He wouldn't let her through to him.

"DAMN YOU!!!" Kat screamed her shrill voice grating painfully on the nerves. "DAMN YOU!!! HOW CAN YOU!?!?! HOW CAN LET THEM HURT HIM LIKE THIS!?! DON'T YOU LOVE YOUR OWN SON!?! Oh God, dear heavenly Father, why. . ." Her voice trailed off in a high sucking sound.

Why? Sobbing helplessly, she slid down the wall and crumpled weakly on the floor. Why did he have to be hurt like this? Couldn't they just kill him? Did God really have to let this happen? Why? Why?

And on and on, relentless on her ears, came the sound of the lead balls biting into raw flesh, that sickening thunking, and Jesus' sounds of pain. Every moment, Kat thought it would stop, it had to stop. But it didn't. It kept going.

Oh God, how long would this last? They were going to kill him!

"Oh God," Kat begged, voice breaking into sobs," please, oh please. . . Just let it stop. . ."