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NOTES:

NEW WRITERS' SHORT STORY COMPETITION 2008/2009
HIGHLY COMMENDED

Please note: this work is copyright by the author and may not be used, copied or shared in any way whatso-ever without his/her express written permission. If you wish to be put in contact with this author, please contact us.

This story text appears exactly as sent in by the writer. No changes or corrections have been made; however, all stories to be included in the published Anthology will be edited for grammar and punctuation before printing.

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"The Rock"

by Peter Alderson Sharp - Bromsgrove, Worcestershire, UK

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Peter Alderson Sharp: "After twenty years in the armed forces, most of that time as a Royal Marine Commando, I decided it was time for a change and went off to University to train to be a teacher. My teaching career was predominantly in prison education and I became Education Manager in Parkhurst high security prison. After a spell in further education as a Deputy Principal I returned to Prison Education as the manager of a large education department. As well as this current award, I have recently won a national “Best First Chapter” competition for an unpublished novel. However, that first publishing contract remains elusive. I am married to Carole and have two grown up children.

COMMENTS FROM JUDGES:

1. A very decent piece of writing (marred by a few punctuation errors). Disappoints in the end because the "sting in the tail" relies on the reader having knowledge of the biblical character and story, rather than something within the story itself.

2. The story moved quite well and was well presented and written, but the ending was all wrong. Simon only became known as Peter when Jesus dubbed him so, and by that time he wouldn't have gone around killing people, so the end line actually cancelled the believability for me, and also undermines the title itself - although this double-entendre can be seen both ways.
 

THE STORY:

Bar Jonah pressed his huge bulk as best as he could against the hard rock face until his form melted into the moon shadows. The bright moonlight of the Galilean night illuminated the opposite face of the narrow valley but Bar Jonah was now invisible, he controlled his breathing and waited.

The soft pad of sandal on rock was audible as Marcus Justus approached Bar Jonah’s position, he was whistling softly. Marcus had the unenviable reputation of being the most hated Legionnaire in the fourth cohort of the sixth legion that had its base on the outskirts of nearby Capernaum He had on several occasions in the past attempted to gain the favours of several of the young maidens, little more than children, of Bar Jonah’s village. 

Then there had been the rape of little Hannah the daughter of Elijah the boat builder. There had been no proof of course, but the child had been adamant which soldier had harmed her. Neither the Jewish nor the Roman authorities had taken any action, so Bar Jonah’s zealot group had determined that they would. It had fallen to Bar Jonah to carry out the “punishment.”

The choice of Bar Jonah the fisherman to be the punisher had been a simple one; he was the leader, the biggest and the strongest, the rest of the group were more than happy to accede to him on this dangerous mission. Bar Jonah was a big man in every sense. He stood a head above most men and was proud of his physique. Each afternoon after he had landed his catch in the harbour of Capernaum, he would climb to his secret arena, a hollow in the hills above the village, where he had arranged a number of rocks of various sizes and weights and there he would practice his feats of strength that had become part of his fame in the region.

The padding of the sandals was becoming louder, soon he would need his legendary strength. This night had been long in the planning, Bar Jonah had enlisted the help of one of the legion auxiliaries, a man from his own village who owed him a debt, to track the exact movements of Marcus. It transpired that when Marcus and his compatriot Tertius Marinus where on sentry patrol together at night in the hills, they always followed the same routine. Marcus would leave Tertius in the cave on the cliff face overlooking the garrison, whilst he slipped away and made his way to the dwelling of Ruth the Harlot on the edge of the village in order to satisfy his needs.

He would always travel along the same path through the pass in the valley of the goat. This night a surprise awaited him.

Bar Jonah moved with amazing speed for a big man. One hand clamped over the soldier’s mouth while a heavily muscled armed encircled his throat and cut of his air. Bar Jonah resisted the soldier’s struggles until the body began to become limp. The big man lowered the soldier to the ground and released him, picking up a large stone, previously placed ready, in the same fluid movement.

The legionnaire was struggling for breath and was instinctively trying to unsheathe his sword when the stone crashed into the back of his head with a sickening thud.

Bar Jonah turned the soldier onto his back, the eyes were flickering and his body jerking and trembling. He crashed the stone down again onto the forehead of the man and all movement ceased, the light faded in the eyes and Marcus Justus, Contubernion of the 4th Cohort of the ‘Iron’ Legion and he breathed his last.

Bar Jonah opened his pack and placed the stone inside, then slung the pack across his back. Wedging the helmet onto the head of the dead soldier, he hoisted the body across his shoulders and strode unhurriedly the remaining distance to the end of the narrow pass, emerging onto a ledge a few hundred feet above the village. The path was narrow here and descended steeply into the western side of Capernaum. To one side was a sheer cliff face, to the other a precipitous drop. Bar Jonah lowered his burden and unslung his pack.

Opening his pack he retrieved the stone and a bottle of wine. Using his teeth he pulled the stopper out of the bottle and with a gentleness that belied his size raised the soldier’s head, prised open the mouth and poured some of the wine down the throat of the dead soldier, splashing it around the dead mans face as he did so. The rest of the wine he splashed over the armour and tunic, then placed the empty bottle in clear sight against the cliff face.

Bar Jonah hoisted the dead warrior above his head, shuffled to the edge of the drop, then hurled the soldier down the scree slope, watching the tumbling body until it disappeared into the gloom. Picking up the bloody rock he sent that rolling down after the corpse. Looking down at the edge of the precipice he spotted the small hollow in the track he had observed the previous morning when he had carried out his final reconnaissance. Standing over it he urinated into the hollow. Finally he made scuff marks on the very edge of the drop, stood back and surveyed his work.

When the legion prefect came in the morning to survey the scene he would find the body of a soldier stinking of wine but with no marks on him other that those made by his fall. He would climb to the path above and would find the area where a drunken contuburnion had left his post and deserted his companion in search of a lustful evening with a harlot. He would find the very spot where the drunkard had rested his now empty wine bottle in order to urinate and where he had slipped and fallen to his death.

Bar Jonah grunted and made his way down the hill, he was content that there would be no further need for an extended investigation. He stopped at the stream near the end of the track and washed his hands and face and reminded himself to ask Sarah to wash his tunic first thing in the morning.

Bar Jonah made his way carefully through the back streets of Capernaum. There was no official curfew, but any patrol from the 4th cohort would challenge anyone they found out and about after dark Sliding from shadow to shadow he made his way to his house near the harbour, quietly he opened the door and closed it behind him, breathing a sigh of relief, then climbed the stairs to the upper floor. He hesitated outside his mother-in-laws bedroom and listened, the heavy breathing confirmed that she was sleeping.  Entering his own room and stripping off his tunic, he climbed carefully into his bed circling his arm gently and lovingly around Sarah, she shifted slightly and moaned then went off to sleep again. Bar Jonah turned onto his back and stared at the invisible ceiling. He was smiling broadly, it had been a good night’s work, even his own legion would not miss the Godless creature who had once borne the name of Marcus Justus.

Bar Jonah was excited at the prospect of the meeting arranged for the morrow. No less than a prince of the land, a descendant of the royal line of David had asked to meet with him with a view to enlisting the help of his zealot group to rid the country of Romans. If this prince turned out to be a warrior, willing to risk all in an armed uprising against the oppressors, then he would willingly rally to the cause.

With a sigh of satisfaction, Simon Bar Jonah, known as Peter, the Rock, turned on his side and slowly slid into an exhausted sleep.
 

Copyright (c) 2009 by Peter A. Sharp - do not reproduce
without the author's written permission!

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