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Prior to, and during, the prefecture of Pontius Pilate in

Judea, an out of the way tavern in Jerusalem was often

patronized by the soldiers, clerks, and some of the

menial servants who lived in, were stationed in, or were

employed by the Fortress Antonia, which shared a wall

with the Holy Temple itself.  Because the administrative

capitol of Judea was Caesarea, Pilate only visited

Jerusalem during the major Feasts---in order to quash

even the least subversive behavior, let alone a full

insurrection, which the Roman Empire feared in many of

its politically unstable and unsettle provinces, but

even more so in Judea, and in Palestine generally.

During these ostensibly administrative visits from

Prefect Pilate, his staff, additional soldiers and,

even at times, his wife, the cash receipts of the

out of the way tavern increased threefold or more;

but in between visits, revenue decreased quite

substantially---as was to be expected servicing a

minimal Roman maintenance staff.  But the tavern

continued its business, with a variety of meals

available on its menu (no pork products used or

prepared there), and a variety of local vintages, as

well as---from time to time---certain Roman favorites,

such as might be supplied to the Prefect's table, or the

Tetrarch's.  (Such a vintage, according to the local

gossip, had provided the Tetrarch with such a heady

exhilaration that he dared to offer half his kingdom---

which only the Emperor Tiberius could assign or

remove---to a dancing girl who had pleased him.  Quite

fortunately, for the Tetrarch's sake, word of this

temporary treason (and challenge to the imperial

authority granted Tiberius by will of the Senate and the

People of Rome) was not conveyed to the Emperor's

residence on Capri, from which he administered the

majestic Imperium of Rome.

   One fairly balmy afternoon, in the middle of the

week, an officer of the Temple Guard, little known to

History under his name, Ahitophel, had reason to

visit the out of the way tavern, although his nominal

devotion to his faith, as well as the oath he had

taken as an officer of the Guard should have prevented

his visit.  But lust both consumed and compelled him;

lust toward a beautiful young man whose name (Ahitophel

learned, after some almost desperate inquiry) was

Neaniskos.  Now you and I likely recognize Neaniskos,

not only for the Cathedral that was named for him in

Wales during the period of Celtic Christianity, but,

also, as the young man, dead in Nain (dead from a

most brutal beating inflicted upon him by bullies),

whom Jesus raised from the funeral bier because his

mother was a widow, and he was her only child.  On that

horrific night when Jesus was arrested in Gethsemane (a

stealthy police action directed by the High Priest and

his staff, and carried out under Ahitophel's command)

Neaniskos had awakened from his temporary lodging

(where he had been sleeping naked, as was his adolescent

custom), wrapped a sheet around himself, and attempted to

follow his Benefactor; at which point, Ahistophel had

attempted to seize, and, indeed, wanted to rape, the

young man whose long hair, slender build, and considerable

beauty had aroused Ahitophel's long unadmitted desires.

Fortunately, for Neaniskos, he managed to flee from those

clutches, although he fled naked, his sheet being kept by

those who wanted to capture him.  On the first day of the

next week, early in the morning before dawn, Neaniskos

had visited the borrowed tomb of the now crucified Jesus:

what transpired there at that time was fully known to

only a few, including Neaniskos, although rumors and

gossip were already multiplying in Jerusalem.  At these

three incidents---at Nain, in Gethsemane, and in the

tomb provided by the Arimathean---we have met Neaniskos.

   When Ahitophel arrived at the out of the way tavern,

he saw that Neaniskos was already seated within; and

beside him, rather than across from him, was a Roman

officer, known to Ahitophel as a centurion whom, so 

said the tales already circulating, had visited the

garden tomb and knew of the strange events that had

occurred there.  Entering the room, Ahistophel did not

hesitate whatsoever, but strode to that particular

table and spoke.  "What brings you here, Whore?  Are

"you collaborating with the Occupiers, or simply

"climbing the ranks in your own way?"  The man

known to Ahitophel as a centurion slammed his

chalice down on the table's surface with such

force that the dregs of the wine he had just consumed

leaped out of it; but Neaniskos touched his arm as if to

calm his sudden anger.  "I have resigned my rank and

"duties," the Roman said, barely containing the

rage in his voice, "and I will be returning to my

"house in Caesarea as a private citizen.  Neaniskos

"has agreed to accompany me, and we will be leaving

"with the Prefect's entourage tomorrow morning."

Ahitophel was genuinely surprised.  "Is this

"true?" he asked Neaniskos, who smiled shyly and

nodded, then said---in the gentlest of tones---"Yes."

Ahitophel then attempted to cajole Neaniskos with the

guilt of disloyalty.  "This person . . . this man . . .

"represents the terrible power that enslaves and

"subjects your own people to unfair burdens and

"nearly unbearable taxes.  He crucified your friend,

"Jesus, after delivering Him to be beaten and scourged."

With Neaniskos' hand still on his arm, the Roman replied,

"I neither commanded nor participated in any of

"that---but did you not deliver him to the priest, who

"then brought him to the Prefect, demanding his

"execution as one who perverted your nation?"

Ahitophel, suddenly at a loss for words, attempted to

collect his thoughts, then, feeling his mouth and

throat very dry, attempted to appeal to Neaniskos.

"I am of your race, and my nature is like yours,"

he said, somewhat more quietly than before.  For the

first time that afternoon, he saw scorn rise into

Neaniskos' face, the same scorn he had observed,

however fleetingly, that night in Gethsemane.

"I am a Galilean; you are a Judean," Neaniskos

told him.  "You scorn us, and look down upon us as

"inferiors.  And your nature is nothing like mine."

Here, the Roman interrupted.  "I ought to thrash

"you thoroughly for insulting him; but he would not

"have me retaliate as you deserve."  Then, to

Neaniskos, the Roman said---very courteously, "We

"should take our leave from this establishment, as

"they are not very particular who is admitted for

"service."  Neaniskos chuckled slightly; not a

girlish giggle, nor a boyish laugh---but a sound

that Ahitophel already knew that he would not

hear again.  As they stood, the Roman seemed as

dignified out of uniform as in it.  And, though he

was at least two and half times the age of

Neaniskos, whom Christ had raised up from death, the

young man seemed very pleased to be enjoying his

company.  As they rose to leave, the Roman suddenly

slammed his fist into Ahitophel's stomach, powerfully 

tumbling him to the tavern's floor and knocking the

wind from him so badly that his head spun and his

eyes momentarily lost focus; but his ears heard the

Roman say, "Be not mistaken; that was not an

"official act, only a small gesture from a private

"citizen, a citizen of Rome"  Then he stepped over, and 

Neaniskos stepped gingerly around, gasping Ahitophel, 

officer of the Temple Guard, who never saw either 

one of them again.

J-Called