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BLOOD ON THE FACE

It was almost night when the executioners arrived in the Holy City from Bethlehem.

Cingo knows what’s the specific needs of his fellow villains, the distribution of payments for their horrific killings. After receiving the payments, these devious men spreads out all over town, eager to pour out alcohol down to their throat, desiring to intoxicate themselves and get drunk. Diffusing the vapors of exhalations, to relax and decimate the conscience, their once guilt of remorse, the accomplished crimes was committed and it’s finished.

That night, the news about the gruesome carnage happened in Bethlehem spreads all over Jerusalem. But what else is new? What could be more shocking to hear this kind of extreme evil, that deserves censure and condemnation? For nothing is new anymore! The poor citizens had already witnessed everything that they could ever comprehend, and behold.

Cingo’s fellow criminals are roaming around town extremely drunk. Staggering along the streets, a nuisance on the road from the passersby, even proud of their beastlike traits of brutality, obnoxious in debating, and arguing of who had done more beheadings, cutting babies heads by their sharpened barbarous machete.

One of the soldiers even stand up to proudly brag, honoring himself to his fellow friends, arrogantly showing his forearms filled with scars, saying:

—“I decapitated twenty babies heads, look at my arms marked with teeth bitten by those mothers.”

But in the middle of their exhilarations was the unexpected black thing that flew around them, then it vanished instantly like a twinkling of an eye; perhaps, the shadow of their guilty conscience lingering around them. These immoral, blasphemous killers are brainwashed, a command from the King enshrouded with venoms, stuffed in their minds and hearts are the execution of children two years below that made them sink even to the lowest depths of the under world, turning into disgusting creatures for killing people; called the “murderers.”

Cingo, the favorite slave, stayed calm, a little quieter than his comrades, drinking and rejoicing from the believed success of their mission accomplished. Then after associating with his followers, he immediately went straight to his Lord’s palace. Like always, he went directly to Herod’s bedroom through the secret door. Inside is the Idumean walking back and forth, obvious of his worries when Cingo entered the room. One wild smile grew bright to Herod’s face, enthusiastic to see his cherished slave.

—“Cingo!……….Is that you? Ah! Thank you, you’re back at last!”

—“I have fulfilled it.” Cingo said.

—“Fully accomplished?”

—“Everything!” The slave’s terse reply.

—“Ah!” Herod said, followed by his deep sigh coming from the bottom of his heart. Like he was relieved from his worries.

—“If we would believe the woman’s statement, the last one to arrived, where we left her crying in Bethlehem.” Cingo continued. —“Then you have nothing to be afraid of, any longer. For the well renowned newborn King of Juda that they talked about and you worry about? Well! Here is his head!”

Then the slave untied the baby’s head at the end of his shawl and gave the infant’s head that he viciously snatched from the woman’s arms, that last one to arrive in Bethlehem. Herod placed that part head of the body on top of the table, the head that’s freshly decapitated, straight to Herod’s hands. Slowly he walked around the table looking at the baby’s head, carefully identifying, silently scrutinizing every part of the head. The Idumean’s wide eyes are not blinking, staring towards the corpse’s face soaked in blood. He would rub his eyes once in a while like it was irritated by some dirt trapped in his eyelids, recognizing the lifeless image.

—“This is mysterious!” Herod is whispering as he stare at the baby’s face.

—“I seemed to have seen this face recently.” Herod was puzzled but afraid of what he could discover.

Cingo is silent. He is genuinely proud of his outstanding performance, his accomplishment, a masterpiece of affirmation presented to his Lord’s horrible and bloody command. He remained quiet, patiently waiting for the reward destined for granting him the unique, and excellent work he thought. Herod’s mind is confused and in disarray for recognizing that head, like he was racked with an inexplicable horror of doubt; he grabbed that infant’s head’s hair saturated with blood then went to the window to clearly see the face, and to dissipate his afflicting emotion. Through the help of that late afternoon sunlight, he was still skeptical from characterizing that baby’s face.

But at that very moment, and at the same time, the humungous curtain covering the door suddenly parted; blurted out and in a hurry is a pallid woman, white as a ghost! She was bloodied and emotionally overwhelmed, her eyes were swollen from her severe crying. She ran towards the hall, in the middle of the room, but she was surprised to see Cingo in the room, and recognized him at the same time. The woman screamed so loud, shouted out as Herod startled, trembled at the sound of the scream, then he slowly turn around with his eyes wide open, terribly surprised.

Herod was astonished to see somebody he knew!

—“You! Here Rebecca?” The startled query of the King to this woman, wondering for her presence.

—“Yes!…….Me!” The woman replied screaming and crying with her hoarse and trembling voice.

—“I deliberately came here to give the King of Jerusalem his son’s body, to attach that infant’s head he’s holding to this body!”

Then, Rebecca threw the crashed and decapitated body of the baby, that she was carrying hidden in her shawl, at Herod’s foot.

—“AaaaaaaaaH! The Idumean shouted aloud in reply. Then he retreated two steps, stunned and surprised by Rebecca’s words and action. —“If that is so………………..this head is?!”

—“Your child! Your son entrusted to me to take care to. And so I nursed him, I nourished him from my breast! But your child was killed by this sadistic vicious man, who obeyed your monstrous command!” The woman shouted.

Then Rebecca stretched out her one arm, and pointed out to Cingo.

Herod was screaming, shocked and speechless. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing! Then he abruptly released the child’s head, causing the infant’s head to fall to the board floor, making a cold, loud thump, and rolled to the ground. Herod was astounded to hear what he was afraid to discover. He was horribly appalled, and disgusted! His inexplicable horror of doubt is now determined; then he raised his two hands to cover his face, to not see with his eyes the head’s rolling down the ground, the last fruit of his love. But those hands are tainted with his own blood, and it imprinted, staining his face of a gruesome, grisly scene. The slave could not open his mouth; he was nervous and frightened, stunned for the unbelievable turn of event. Then sitting comfortably, he stand up promptly, flabbergasted from the unexpected situation, waiting for the act of judgment, those grisly hands of Herod to come down to him for punishment, in return for his obedience to his Lord. But despite of his fearful endearment to himself, afraid of what could happen next, and with his dark skin, it finally turned into white pale color.

At the same time, Rebecca, just by standing in their midst, had no remorse, not even a slight of feeling the guilt or repenting for her action, telling Herod that somebody had done something horrendous, pointing her stretched arm to the negro.

—“Let me be!…..Let me be!” Herod’s fierce command. Then after a while, thinking of how to deal with this kind of circumstance. —“Please remove that body in front of me! It is soaked in blood! Seeing that makes my eyes burn and it makes my heart boil!”

Rebecca put away the crashed baby’s body. She wrapped it in her shawl after giving the slave a menacing look, a threatening stare that makes Cingo cringe in cold fear, then she talked like prophesying:

—“Killing the firstborn males in Juda! Let his name be accursed unto the last moment of his breath. The raging fire in hell shall rejoice to rip apart his internal organs from the sharpened piercing tongues of fire!”

Then, Rebecca left the King’s room, holding tight to her chest is the child’s corpse, the innocent martyr!

Cingo was about to do the same, he hurriedly stand up to leave the room when Herod shouted:

—“Wait!”

—“My Lord, punish me! You have to hate me!”

Then Cingo bowed down his head, like he was waiting for the devastating blows, a punishment that could be granted to him by his King.

—“Don’t be afraid, Cingo!” Herod continued. —“Dire consequences, an accidental coincidence, is the one to blame involving my son. This savage luck is God’s fault, my descendant’s opponent! You are not to blame, and you are innocent. But listen! For all the blood poured down, exploded on the ground is plain useless if we don’t get Zechariah’s son and my traitor son Antipater; with your expertise in accomplishing my orders with great success, I entrust you to take over in managing my Kingdom’s peaceful affairs. Please go on, find them, do everything you can to fulfill my desires. As long as John and Jesus is alive, and as long as Antipater is free, the crown I am wearing is not secure. My power as a King is fast fleeting from my hand; my enemies are rising against me, threatening me in every corner, my troubled sleep is constant, and my life is long and slow in agony, suffering from my dying innermost. You already know Cingo, this cruel illness is eating me, making my enemies brave enough to aim their weapons at me. I see them wherever I impose my sight, standing and ready to strike me, desiring my scepter and my treasure. The traitors are uprising behind my back; their clever schemes are in every corner. The Pharisee’s, and the Essenes, as time progressed are becoming more deadly by the hour; they are gathering, meeting in hideous places even in Zion’s Temple, and the Holy City’s street corners. These two children who escaped my wrath are the one’s that gave the Israelites to arise in fury of fearless courage, but you my brave Cingo, can provoke and get these Hebrew’s on their nerves, and despair their hopes. Go on! Move on!……..For only you, who I can trust, can manage to keep my throne. The Romans don’t care, and they even made me pay them their highly expensive price for the supposed paid up services for their Lord; besides these kinds of things should be done in secret and this type of work should be done at night, but to compare in the daytime it is obvious, and it can easily be discovered.

Herod stopped talking, his sunken, sharp eyes are straight staring at the calm and composed face of the slave like he wants to know if Cingo can understand the fruit of his words. But the negro who is accustomed of being obedient in accomplishing his Lord’s commands, blindly performing the King’s orders, had slightly bowed down his head, then walked, heading through the door. But the King prevented him from leaving, and Herod held his arms, tight!

The deep and piercing Herod’s eyes glaring at Cingo frightened the slave, and it made him turned pale.

—“If you bring me the heads of John and Jesus right here in front of me, then I will grant you a Hebrew talent, a reward. I would even give you back your freedom.”

Herod spoke those words very gently with charm and fascination, like he wanted Cingo to trickle down these words to his heart, savor it with appreciation, and this is how Cingo responded, with his monotonous voice, and without bickering:

—“Eros, Mark Anthony’s slave, gained his egotistical fame, and at the peak of his glory, he killed himself in front of his Lord; my only wish and long-cherished dream is to make my name famous also, and to die just for you.”

Herod was delightful to hear these words from his brave and faithful servant. Then he presented his one hand to Cingo, and the slave with no regard took the hand of his King and kissed it. Herod, with his black and intellectual eyes, is beaming wildly to the thick and rustic face of his slave. Herod is greatly satisfied, the delightful sense from his heart is overflowing, and immeasurable, but he is concealing this from his slave’s awareness.

—“Go on.” Herod said. —“And don’t forget that I am waiting for you.”

—“Never did I rest when I am given the order with anything important from my Lord.” Cingo replied.

The slave left the room walking backwards for respect until he reached the door, a royal protocol.

The King of Jerusalem remained silent for quite a while in his room; his heart was deeply afflicted, affected by the departure of his beloved slave. His face suddenly turned into a creepy color, astronomically pale like a corpse. His cheeks had sunken, and the once dreamy eyes got deepened, as his whole body receded horribly.

His lips sink enormously with red bruises emitting to it, in pain and in distress, his lips started to move in motion, quivering, uttering a long agonizing moaning. His overstressed body is trembling, down to his nerves, causing great pain. Then he strongly forced to press his hands at the pit of his stomach as he erected his eyes above, convulsing. Suddenly, he fell down to his soft carpet, crumbling, making the groaning sound, then he began screaming:

—“Help me!……..Tend me! I am dying!…….”

Then Herod rolled down the floor, squirming in pain from his stomach like he was “damned,” judged by God. His mouth releases lumps of foams, and his restless body is tensed from turbulence. We can say that hell is spewing its venoms of fire, burning from within, consuming his body. Those in his household attended him immediately and they moved him back to his bed.

The doctors surrounded him right away, giving the quality of their expertise, their wisdom for health care, for his painful illness was clearly identifiable at the time. His mysterious illness is called “gastric cancer,” and this dreadful illness will send him out early to his grave, but after the tremendous torment he suffered first. God extremely dislike all the crimes that this cruel Idumean committed, and so the punishment began. God gave him the long and excruciating pain, an agonizing, and harrowing death. For destiny is speechless and blinded to what is to come, and God’s mighty hands pour down all his extreme anger from heaven down to this cruel King, for better or for worse from the moral fairness of justice that can’t be measured, and be blamed for what’s been done!