The Song of the Centurion

In Ancient Anatolia, in the hills of the Ida Mountains, the Prince’s son was excited to start his public life. Nothing could have prepared him for who showed up. 

1st Century, AD, Skepsis on the Hellespont

Young Demetrian forced his shoulders back and stepped with care over the cobblestone path. Accompanied by his tutor, Paedagogus, his eyes darted in every direction. This was the first time he had walked the crowded streets of Skepsis on the Hellespont. It was so loud - with the bleating of goats, the vendors haggling for prices over dye and wool, and the clanking of carts bumping over the road.

As the prince’s son, he had spent his life confined in the palace. Now that he was seven, it was time to start observing the civic rituals of the city in which his father, Demetrius, served as prefect for the Roman Empire. A patrol guard of eight soldiers accompanied them: in front, behind, and on left and right. In order to display their authority, the muscled men sported short swords, ornate daggers, and scowls. Demetrian felt both thrilled and scared.

“You look pale,” whispered Paedagogus. “Can you handle it, Noble Boy?”

Demetrian raised his chin and kept walking. He chose his words with care, as Paedagogus had taught him to. “It is very different from the palace.” It got louder as they neared the agora, the energy of the city drawing him forward. “Nevertheless, I’m curious to see in person the things you have taught me.”

Demetrian could hear the muffled clunk of amphorae being stacked, a process he was familiar with from watching deliveries to the palace storehouses. They walked under a covered porch and into the square. Sure enough, just inside the porch, three men unloaded a cart of the long, narrow ceramic vessels holding wine, gripping them by their two handles and stacking them for display around a vendor table.

“Well, my Noble Boy, what do you see?”

Demetrian looked around the huge open-air plaza, full of people and stalls. “Figs… barley flatbreads… cheeses…”

Paedagogus chuckled. “All you're thinking about is food. What do you see of importance?”

They passed a stall of spices, and Demetrian could smell the thyme and cumin, mingling with the aroma of roasted nuts, but he decided against mentioning it. He looked further up. “There's the council house, where Father sometimes sits in judgement. And the archive next to it.”

Padedagogus nodded.

Demetrian scanned the rest of the square - overlooking what felt like legions of people buying, selling, lecturing, learning - and found the smaller temple to the local river gods. He pointed it out to his tutor. Smoke drifted lazily from its open doors. As they neared it, he could smell the pine resin from the incense. Behind the smaller temple, up on a hill, perched the giant white marble temple to Zeus-of-Ida, Apollos, and Cybele. Its line of columns rose like guards over the statues he knew stood within. As soon as the servants bought grain and oil, Demetrian would head up to the temple to meet his mother for the sacrifice.

~

Within the dimly lit temple, Paedagogus handed him off to his mother. Their guards joined her patrol and Demetrian found himself surrounded by sixteen of the strongest men in the Empire. It felt unnecessary, since the temple had been cleared out before they entered.

Even so, Demetrian was secretly glad it was empty. He had practiced at home, but this would be his first official sacrifice. Quietly, moving from statue to statue, his mother oversaw him as he sprinkled the oily pearls of barley and wheat at the feet of each god. Mixed with various sweet and spicy herbs, the grain offering tickled his nose.

Finishing without what Paedagogus would call an "incident," he exhaled, relieved. But he frowned down at his oily fingers. He was rubbing his hands together, trying to work the oil into them, when he heard the terrifying voice of his father booming in from the entrance. Everyone looked in that direction.

But Demetrian didn’t see his father. Instead, a tall man, as well-built as the patrol guards but much older with silver hair and beard, stumbled in, apparently pushed by the soldiers behind him.

Demetrian’s mother put her arm around him and pulled him backwards, towards a door. The guards snapped into a formation facing the stranger.

Prince Demetrios strode in, arm outstretched in condemnation towards the older man.

Reaching a hallway, Demetrian pulled against his mother, his hand gripping the door frame. He wanted to see what his father would do.

“Cornelius, just because you were once a centurion does not mean you can stride into this city and defy the gods!”

The answering voice was calm but firm. “I defy broken marble, dust, splinters of wood. I do not defy God.”

“Traitor! Worship the gods of the Empire if you want to be a citizen of the Empire!”

Prince Demetrius lifted his chin, and in response, a soldier swung back a club and knocked the former centurion across the face. Demetrian winced as the old man’s body whipped around. A second soldier lifted a massive boot and kicked Cornelius in the stomach, sending him stumbling backwards. He crashed into a column and crumpled to the floor.

Demetrian realized he was squeezing his shoulders almost up to his ears, but he couldn’t put them back down. His mother pulled his tunic, but he held his place.

“There!” Prince Demetrios gestured towards the upturned bowl of grains, and a servant ran to pick it up, sweeping some grains back into the bowl.

His father’s voice softened. “All you have to do, Cornelius, is take a few of these grains in your fingers and drop them before the statue of Zeus. That will suffice. Worship whatever other god you choose, but show your loyalty to the Empire.”

Demetrian looked from his father to the man on the ground. His father was being reasonable. Would the man accept? Cornelius pushed himself up onto one knee, paused, then stood. Demetrian realized that the former centurion would not be sacrificing to the gods today. He was surprised to find that he was glad about that. Did that make him a traitor too?

A large hand wrenched his fingers from the door, and he knew he couldn’t fight it. The soldier pushed him towards his mother down the hallway and turned back to the conflict. From the statue room, Demetrian heard the former centurion raise a raspy voice in a prayer to an unknown god, and he wondered if that god would answer.

As if in response, the marble floor underneath his feet began to shake. A thunderous sound, like the earth ripping apart, overpowered shouts and orders from the other room. His mother grabbed his hand, but the floor shifted from under them and they both fell. His knees bit into the hard, cold marble and he cried out. He had read about earthquakes and thought he was about to get eaten by one.

Ahead of them, he saw a strange soldier, in an unfamiliar uniform. With a terrifying spear and even more powerful eyes, the man gestured for them to come to him. Demetrian looked to his mother, who gave her assent, and they started crawling. Chunks of the ceiling crashed to the floor around them. Demetrian wasn’t sure what was happening, but he and his mother were huddled underneath what seemed like a giant bowl. It must have been harder than iron, because they heard pieces of the temple crashing on top of the shield above them and all around them. But when he reached to touch it, the surface felt like feathers. The floor crumbled under them, breaking into jagged pieces, but the shield scooped them up before their legs were cut.

Demetrian coughed, his mouth full of dust. He thought of his father, who had been standing by the entrance. He hoped he had gotten out unharmed. Thunderous crashes and shaking made it hard to think. His mother’s thumb stroked his forehead as the world broke apart around them, and he snuggled closer to her. Something else seemed to be caressing them, protecting them, comforting them, and Demetrian thought it was a song. He must be dazed - he didn't know what tricks his mind was playing.

But he listened, and the sound of the song rose as the crushing sounds of the earthquake faded. The music swelled and his mother’s sobs faded. His own heartbeat - which had been thudding in his head - faded, as he closed his eyes and imagined himself laying in the arms of the song. This went on for a long, long time.

After a while, he and his mother were singing the song themselves.

Sometimes they slept. He wasn't sure what part might be a dream. The strange soldier and his magical shield were gone, and massive pieces of marble were stacked all around them. It was dark for a while, and later the sun shone through the cracks in the stone. He didn’t know how time passed. 

Slashes of bright light cut across their little make-shift cave. He was awake and singing when he heard men in the distance. 

An unfamiliar voice shouted. “Here! This is where I heard them, sir!”

Demetrian and his mother kept singing. More time passed.

Somewhere nearby, metal grated against stone. “I can’t make it budge!”

In a daze, they kept singing.

“This way! You can hear them!” Another strange voice.

“See? I told you! That’s the song of the centurion’s god!”

Demetrian held his mother tightly.

“Euanthea? Demetrian? Can you hear me?!” His father cried to them from somewhere far away.

His mother sat up and called back, "Yes, we are here. We are unharmed!"

“I hear them! It is a miracle! Go to the prison and bring back Cornelius!” Demetrian took courage in his father’s voice. He smiled and hummed the song to himself.

After a while, another voice joined their song. It belonged to the silver haired centurion. Demetrian heard stone scraping against stone, and stones tumbling to land on the floor with a crash. But he wasn’t scared. He was excited! 

Demetrian, his mother, and Cornelius were singing the same song by the time a large hunk of marble was dislodged to the right, and Demetrian could look through and see his father. The prince pressed his face against the slit between pieces of marble, and Demetrian could see his father’s eye and quivering jaw.

He heard his father’s voice. "The god of Cornelius saved you!"

With that, Demetrian felt his shoulders relax.

When he and his mother were pulled free, he looked around in the blinding sun. The entire temple had been destroyed. The statues of Zeus and Apollo and Cybele had been crushed into rubble and dust. Slabs of marble larger than a man had been moved aside from where he had been saved during the earthquake.

His father dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around both of them. His broad shoulders shook. "Glory to the god of Cornelius," he murmured between tears.

Demetrian twisted his head under his father’s arm to look for the old centurion. Cornelius stood a few feet from them, arms raised in prayer. He looked down to nod to the boy before returning his attention heavenward. 

Demetrian nodded back. Later, if he could, he would ask Cornelius about the strange guard who protected them. Whatever type of divine soldier he was, his power had been above and beyond anything Paedagogus had taught him.

Demetrian smirked at the idea of how much he had learned on his trip to the city! And tucked his head back into his family circle once more.

Lagniappe

In Louisiana, we use the Creole French word Lagniappe (lan-yap) to mean "a little something extra." Here's your lagniappe this month 😊

1. Learn more about saints Demetrius, Euanthia, Demetrian, and Cornelius the Centurion in this short video.

2. Yes! This is the same Cornelius the Centurion you may have heard about in the book of Acts!

3.The city of Skepsis is near a famous site: the ancient city of Troy from the Iliad! Learn more about the epic battles of Troy in Homer's poem with my super-educated writer friend and her husband on their Winnow podcast!