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Chapter Seven
The
Lucid Dream
Immediately, after rinsing my face in the water provided
for our tent, I sat my shield aside, tucked my gladius by the goatskin, and
crawled into my pallet. I didn’t
even bother unfastening the muddy boots from my feet. Geta was already asleep. Caesarius murmured sleepily “I’m proud of you lad.” I muttered my appreciation as I lay
down my head. In a short while I
expected Abzug to return from his watch.
I hoped he wouldn’t wake us up.
As a comforting blanket in my mind came the thought of my great white
horse. I wondered fleetingly, as I
had earlier in the evening, whether or not I would have another lucid
dream. If so, I hoped it would be
a pleasant one. I was so exhausted
I might just drift into the black sleep.
The sick feeling I had after drinking so much wine had faded and was
replaced by sore joints, an aching back, and dull pain in my head. I could scarcely concentrate on my
horse or place myself in the desired dreamscape, and yet I managed at least to
visualize my steed. I had, after
so many years of dreaming about him, never given him a name. He was simply the “great white horse”—a
larger than life version of other horses I had seen among the Romans riding
through my town. Since I had named
both of my mules, it seemed only fitting that he have a fine name. What shall it be, I wondered, as I
resisted sleep? Thunder? Lightning? ...How about Storm—that’s a
great name?
Because of the threats around me, I was fearful of
falling asleep. Due to the dark, foreboding
stimuli experienced, I expected a nightmare. In that period in my life in which I suffered strange,
unsettling dreams, Jesus taught me how to ‘awaken’ in my dreamscape in order to
dispel my dream, even control it and change its plot. Seldom did I have a normal nightmare or dream, but never in
my life would I experience a dreamscape as I had that night at the imperial way
station. I had a series of
prophetic nightmares, where I saw crosses, angry mobs, and the devil, himself,
and was able to dispel them and awaken from the dream. It was not easy at first. Each night, following Jesus’
instructions, I would concentrate upon something I loved very much in the
world. For a long time this was my
great white horse, which I would ride freely in my dream, until the imagery
became muddled as it so often did, then turn into what I know now was a vision
of things to come. If I fell
asleep and floated into a dreamscape where I was riding my white horse and
then, as so often happened, drifted into a prophetic nightmare, I would know I
was merely sleeping. This would
allow me to manipulate my dream imagery, until I decided to wake up. When that moment came, I would slip
into the corridor of wakefulness, drifting swiftly back to the world. I fought the temptation to dream of
Tabitha this way. Jesus scolded me
when I did this once. I’m still
tempted now when I recall this lovely girl. The important fact, which made me more fortunate than other
sleepers suffering nightmares, was the fact that I knew I was asleep. I could control this shadowy
world. What I couldn’t control
were the apparent revelations that appeared in my head. I had been so exhausted last night I
scarcely remembered what I dreamed.
That evening at the way station, while suffering the effects of wine, I
prayed for a pleasant dream. It
could even be a silly dream—one of those silly, unfinished and fragmented plots
that could be pieced together like a puzzle. That would be all right, I thought, drifting off to
sleep. Anything was better than
those thought-provoking nightmares experienced in the past. I would, of course, prefer dreaming of
my great white horse...or, God forgive me, Tabitha, my special friend.
That night, as I listened to the murmurs of the
camp, trying to focus on Tabitha and my horse, I tumbled finally into slumber,
but this time I found myself landing in a very dark place. I could barely see my mount below
me. Ahead of me someone, I assumed
to be another rider, held a torch overhead, my only guide in the blackness,
leading me on and on, until the phantom horseman and I broke through a
silhouette of trees into a familiar scene.
“Not
again!” I groaned.
“Behold
the Lamb of God,” whispered the phantom, “who takes away the sins of the
world.”
I
understand now what that meant. It
meant nothing then, but I knew at once that I was asleep. Once again, I was having a lucid
dream. Calmly, mounted on my
trusty horse, which I named Storm, I sat it out, curious about the outcome of
the dream. According to the disciple
Philip, John the Baptist, had cried “Behold the Lamb of God!” when Jesus
arrived at the river’s edge. At
this time in my life, as in previous dreamscapes (which I realize now were
revelations), the three crosses made no sense at all. What Lamb of God is this? I asked myself gazing at the
scene. “All I see are three crosses.
They’re in shadows. Who are
those men? Where’s the Lamb of
God?”
The
crucified men remained, as the audience below, shadows against an unfriendly
sky. Unlike previous nightmares,
the onlookers were silent. There
was no cursing or wailing. Because
they were mere shades, I couldn’t distinguish any of my previous dream world
figures. Once, in one dream of the
crosses, I saw my mother and the disciple John, whom I wouldn’t recognize until
I met him in the flesh. Was my
mother out there again? I wondered
fleetingly. I couldn’t tell. That the clouds might break and light
fall upon the setting caused me to shudder. Perish the thought!
I really didn’t want to know.
An unsettling calm pervaded the scene, and it was eerily quiet. All I could hear for several moments was
my own breathing. The shadowy
shapes seemed to be frozen in time.
I saw no movement whatsoever, except from the darkly clad figure beside
me. Pointing a long skeletal
finger to the crosses, his icy voice blew finally into my ear, “You have ears
but can’t hear and eyes that can’t see.
You have a mind, and are ignorant of the truth. You’re not ready for the truth Thaddeus
Judaicus. Your heart is both Roman
and Jew. How can you serve two
masters and see the truth. You
belong to Caesar, not Christ!”
“Who?”
I asked. “My name’s not Thaddeus Judaicus. I don’t care what Aulus says. I’ve never heard of this Christ. My heart’s not Roman, it’s Jew. I belong to no one but my parents and my people. I might just leave this bunch and go
home. I want no part of their
world!”
“You
can’t go home!” the specter shrilled.
It’s you who set forth on this road. You have a mission, Thaddeus Judaicus: Learn the heart of the Gentiles.”
“No,
no, no,” I shouted, drawing back on the reins. “I shall awaken now. Storm, take me back. It’s time to get out of this silly
dream.”
“Go,
Thaddeus Judaicus,” the specter’s voice howled like the wind, “back to the
Roman world. You can’t escape!”
This
time I had no torch to led me. I
road into pitch-blackness, my stallion as my guide, until I reached a clearing
in the woods. Climbing off my
horse, I bid him goodbye, standing there a moment I patted his nose and
whispered endearments. The light
of the bonfire shone in the horse’s black eyes as he backed away, reared up on
his hind legs, then, after neighing shrilly, galloped into the shadows whence
he had come. As I walked back to
the encampment, I drew my sword impulsively, and quickened my pace. Suddenly, after I reached the center of
camp and looked around for my tent, several dark bodies moved out of the
woods. The thought that I was
dreaming gave me great power then.
During episodes before, I had dallied with Tabitha in my dreams. I had taken great risks other times or
done mischief to people I didn’t like.
Now, once more, I would have some fun before awakening, but this time
with my sword.
“All
right, you cowards,” I whooped, “I’m ready for you. I know all the moves.
Stand down or face the Reaper!”
For several moments, I battled what I
thought were dream images. As the
first man approached, he looked suspiciously like one of the cavalrymen
encamped near our group. Unlike
the Romans, the cavalrymen, like our auxilia, wore an assortment of
costumes. The stranger took two
swipes at me with a long curved sword similar to the heirloom owned by my
father. I felt it slice the wind
near my ear, but I wasn’t afraid.
I was invincible now. In
one lucid dream, I had as a child, I jumped off a cliff in Nazareth’s hills and
flew like a bird, and, knowing I was safely asleep once, I walked up to a surly
Roman sentry and with my dream sword, after a short duel, chased him way. This time the make-believe warrior was
more persistent and swiped at me again and again, each time his blade bouncing
off my shield and, with a wide sideswipe, barely missing my head. Before this sudden encounter, I don’t
even remember grabbing up my shield or sword. Normally, as I road my white stallion, I carried a spear, my
cape fluttering in the breeze, but there was no horse, spear or cape this
time—just my sword and shield, mysteriously present in my hands. A second, third, and forth stranger
came at me now from all sides. In
a flurry only possible in dreamscapes I lounged forward and, as the first
attacker raised his sword over his head to split my skull, ran him through,
immediately turning to slash the second man in the neck as he attempted to
backstab me with a knife. I heard
voices now in my dream, muffled at first, but recognizable as the camp was
filled with invaders.
“By
the gods, we’re under attack!” Aulus cried.
“Where’s
Thaddeus?” Caesarius sounded frantic. “He’s not in the tent.”
“Over
here,” I shouted blithely.
After this point everything moved quickly and
violently in our camp. Someone
must of dispatched one of my attackers, for I found myself face-to-face with
one lone, axe-wielding, scar-faced giant, who would have chopped me to pieces
if an arrow hadn’t brought him down.
It was Ibrim’s missile.
Unphased by this close call, I sought out a new opponent. I could see all of my campmates
now. Even Caesarius, Geta, and
Abzug, who, like me, had behaved cowardly before, were forced to stand and
fight. Had I not been certain I
was still asleep, I would have been terrified at this point. Instead, I struck down one attacker after
another, one time picking up a spear and throwing at an ugly brute cornering
Langullus in front of a tree.
Fronto, Ajax, Apollo, Rufus, Enrod, Aulus, and the optio were all pared
off with opponents, desperately fighting for their lives. Caesarius and Geta had been running to
assist Langullus when I tossed the spear.
Meanwhile, Abzug and Ibrim, with short horsemen bows in their hands,
fired arrows at our foes. Tilting
the battle in our favor, were several of the Roman soldiers from the station
who joined the fight. It all
happened in such a fantastic fashion I was convinced it was a dream.
Ibrim gave a startled shout now, “It’s the Jew. I thought I was seeing things. He’s fighting like the Furies.”
“I see him.” Apollo yelled in the distance. “All
this time I thought he was a coward.”
“By Jupiter,” Fronto declared, “It’s him all right:
Jude Thaddeus. Saved up his
courage, he did!”
“I’m Thaddeus Judaicus, the Reaper,” I cried
jubilantly, chasing after a foe.
“We whipped’em,” Aulus announced. “We got’em on the
run.” “Stop lad,” he called to me,
“you’ll run right into an ambush!”
“Yes, let’em go,” Decimus said, out of breath. “...I
can’t believe my eyes. You must’ve
killed five or six men. If you
hadn’t jumped in like that, they would’ve murdered us in our tents. To say I’m proud of you is an
understatement.” “Now simmer down,” he ordered, grabbing me from behind.
“You’re in a state, we call ‘frenzy’ in battle. Wake up, drop you sword and shield. There, that’s better.”
All of this, of course, I considered part of my
dream. Decimus, in fact, had just
told me to wake up. Even though I
thought I was asleep, I was polite to my superiors and did what I was told. As our adversaries rode off into the
night, I could hear exclamations and expletives erupt all around me, both
praise and denial. Impossible,
several of them said, shaking their heads. Was this not the Jew, who wanted to be a scribe—the same
coward who ran like a jackal into the woods and trembled at the least
sound? Yet here he was, they admitted
begrudgingly, a champion. I knew
better, of course. I would awaken
in the morning the same frightened Jew.
Yet, all around me, was the proof—ten dead attackers, over half of them
credited to my sword. Many of the
invaders had, in fact, only been wounded.
Rufus’ brother Enrod had also been injured and one of the station guards
had been killed. All of my
campmates, including the wounded Gaul stood around me, as I sat on a log by the
fire, murmuring with awe or disbelief, but I was just very tired.
“He’s a natural warrior,” declared Aulus. “He just
didn’t know it until he was put to test.”
“Aye,” Caesarius stepped forward, “he was an
inspiration. He saved my life.”
“Mine too,” Langullus grumbled. “I don’t remember
Decimus showing him how to throw a spear.”
“I didn’t.” Decimus frowned thoughtfully. “I just
showed him the basics.”
“Well,” Ajax grinned, “he remembered every one of
them and then some!”
“He’s a natural,” Aulus repeated. “Looked like a
gladiator the way he handled that sword.”
Fronto wrinkled his nose. “How very strange. You gave yourself a gladiator’s name
too: Thaddeus Judaicus, the Reaper.
Is that what you want us to call you?”
“Sure, why not,” I yawned. “Decimus and Aulus gave
me my Roman name. I added the last
part. Reaper’s short for Grim
Reaper, our religion’s Angel of Death.
I was dreaming about him tonight.
He said strange things to me I don’t understand.”
“Well, I like the name,” Decimus rustled my
hair. “We’ll call you the Reaper,
for short.”
“I don’t care what he calls himself,” Langullus
reached down to grip my shoulder. “He saved my skin. Transfixed that blackheart on a tree,” “but tell me lad,”
his voice crackled, “who was that strange man in your dream?”
“Oh that was him—the real Angel of
Death. I have had those dreams
frequently—off and on. Sometimes a
whole month will pass without my visions, and then—bam! (I socked my palm) I
have a mind boggler like tonight.
I wanted Jesus to interpret my dreams for me, but he was afraid
to...They’re prophetic, he believes...I’m not so sure.”
Langullus looked back at the others. “He’s either
mad, touched by the gods or very brave.”
“No,” I said, smiling crookedly, “I’m just
asleep.”
No one questioned my words; I was, after all, a
peculiar sort, and yet I had, in one burst of emotion, won them over. The duty officer approached Decimus
less amiably that moment.
“One of my men is dead,” he complained bitterly.
“We’re short-handed now. When you
arrive at your fort, please ask Aurelian to send a few replacements. This station needs more than ten men.”
“I’m sorry this happened.” The optio sighed,
gripping his forearm. “I sensed those men were trouble when I laid eyes on
them. One of our men will need a
physician in the next town, but we’re going to reach Antioch before the end of
the week. I will ask the prefect
to send you a lot more than one or two replacements. You need at least twenty soldiers at this station.”
The officer and his men disappeared into the
darkness. For a few more moments,
as I basked in their adulation, I expected I would awaken any moment, but I
didn’t. I tried pinching myself,
and this failed. This seemed
troubling.
“All right,” I heaved a sigh, “this has been fun,
now I must wake up.” “Wake up Thaddeus Judaicus, the Angel of Death calls.”
“What’s he talking about?” Abzug’s face loomed in
front of mine. “You all right, lad?
You put on quite a show.”
“I know,” I piped, stretching as if I was ready for
a nap, “now I’m going to lie down and wake up. I’ve done this before.”
“You’re acting like a sleepwalker.” Aulus muttered,
gazing into my face. “All this must’ve addled your brains.”
“He thinks he’s asleep,” observed Langullus. “How
very peculiar.”
“Did he take a knock on the head?” asked Caesarius.
“Lemme see,” Decimus probed my scalp. “No knots, cuts,
or bruises. Matter of fact, there
isn’t a scratch on him.”
“He’s falling asleep,” Geta commented drolly. “He is
a sleepwalker.”
“I’m worried about him,” Caesarius shook me gently.
“He might be in shock. I’ve never
heard of anyone’s personality changing that drastically. The lad wants to sleep.”
“All right, let’s put him to bed. ” Aulus reached
down, with Caesarius help, and pulled me to my feet.
Several men, who I once saw as enemies, reached out
to steady me as I took a few steps.
“Listen up men.” Decimus called through cupped hands. “Enrod has a nasty cut, so we’ve got to find him a physician in the next town. There’s no moon tonight. It’s too risky to be on the road, but we’re gonna be on it before dawn. Caesarius and Geta, make sure Thaddeus Judaicus, the Reaper, stays on his pallet for a few hours sleep. Those men who stood watch should catch a few winks themselves. You too Langullus; you don’t look so good. Ibrim claims to know a little about wounds. He will stay with Enrod in one tent, while the rest of us stand watch and start packing our gear. Except for our young warrior, I don’t think any of us will be getting much sleep.”
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