As they led him off, they made Simon, a man from Cyrene who happened to be coming in from the countryside, carry the cross behind Jesus. A huge crowd of people followed, along with women weeping and carrying on. At one point Jesus turned to the women and said, “Daughters of Jerusalem, don’t cry for me. Cry for yourselves and for your children. The time is coming when they’ll say, ‘Lucky the women who never conceived! Lucky the wombs that never gave birth! Lucky the breasts that never gave milk!’ Then they’ll start calling to the mountains, ‘Fall down on us!’ calling to the hills, ‘Cover us up!’ If people do these things to a live, green tree, can you imagine what they’ll do with deadwood?” Two others, both criminals, were taken along with him for execution.

When they got to the place called Skull Hill, they crucified him, along with the criminals, one on his right, the other on his left.

Jesus prayed, “Father, forgive them; they don’t know what they’re doing.”

Dividing up his clothes, they threw dice for them. The people stood there staring at Jesus, and the ringleaders made faces, taunting, “He saved others. Let’s see him save himself! The Messiah of God—ha! The Chosen—ha!”

The soldiers also came up and poked fun at him, making a game of it. They toasted him with sour wine: “So you’re King of the Jews! Save yourself!”

Printed over him was a sign: this is the king of the jews.

One of the criminals hanging alongside cursed him: “Some Messiah you are! Save yourself! Save us!”

But the other one made him shut up: “Have you no fear of God? You’re getting the same as him. We deserve this, but not him—he did nothing to deserve this.”

Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you enter your kingdom.”

He said, “Don’t worry, I will. Today you will join me in paradise.”

By now it was noon. The whole earth became dark, the darkness lasting three hours—a total blackout. The Temple curtain split right down the middle. Jesus called loudly, “Father, I place my life in your hands!” Then he breathed his last.

When the captain there saw what happened, he honored God: “This man was innocent! A good man, and innocent!”

All who had come around as spectators to watch the show, when they saw what actually happened, were overcome with grief and headed home. Those who knew Jesus well, along with the women who had followed him from Galilee, stood at a respectful distance and kept vigil.

There was a man by the name of Joseph, a member of the Jewish High Council, a man of good heart and good character. He had not gone along with the plans and actions of the council. His hometown was the Jewish village of Arimathea. He lived in alert expectation of the kingdom of God. He went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus. Taking him down, he wrapped him in a linen shroud and placed him in a tomb chiseled into the rock, a tomb never yet used. It was the day before Sabbath, the Sabbath just about to begin.

Standing up, she wiped the crumbs from her trousers and picked up her rucksack. She checked her map and realised if she nipped down the side of the next field she could cut twenty minutes off her walk. It would be a little naughty, but the field didn’t contain a crop and there was just a scrub of wild flowers and grasses. There weren’t any trespasser signs so she squeezed through a gap in the bushes, cursing her big hips and ample bosom with every scrape of the thorny branches…

She felt a cool breeze on her shoulders and looked up to the sky. A huge black cloud was on its way over. If she picked up her pace, she’d be safely in the warmth of her little tent by the time it broke. She stepped forward determinedly and yelped as her foot fell an inch lower than she’d expected and she tumbled over to the side, her foot still wedged in the hole.

“Ouch,” she cried. “Fuck, damn it!” She pulled her leg gently out of the offending pothole and winced. She’d twisted it. She could feel her toes and wiggle them, but the ankle was swelling up already. It was definitely sprained.

She took off her trainer and dragged off the sock to discover a bruise already beginning to form, the ankle much wider around than it should be. She yanked her bottle of water out of her backpack and poured it onto her sock until it was wet. It was not as cold as a frozen pack of peas but it was cool so it would have to do. She wrapped it loosely around the stupid ankle to soothe it. It was then she wondered how she would get back to her tent. She was still a good mile from the site, and the thought of walking all that way pained her. She was in the middle of a field with no helpful stick or person to lean on. There was no way she could hobble across this uneven ground without doing herself another damage. She had no phone and no way of contacting anyone to help her except by the old-fashioned and embarrassing way. She sighed, took a deep breath then yelled at the top of her voice.

“Help! Help! Please help me!” And she hoped to the heavens that someone was in hearing distance as the first cool drops of water splashed on her arms.

* * * *

“Help!” Hugh heard the shout as loudly as if it had been called from inside his home.

“Help! Please help me!”

He concentrated and determined that the voice came from somewhere in his field, out beyond the garden. He never did anything with the field, not needing its nourishment himself or its money. He’d pretty much forgotten about it. It wasn’t part of his life. A black cloud rumbled overhead and a bright crack of lightning was followed a few seconds later by a loud clap of thunder.He couldn’t leave the poor woman out in this. He let out a disgruntled sigh and walked out his back door. He didn’t bother locking it behind him.

No one dared to walk over the threshold into his home.

The voice yelled out again then whispered some colourful swear words almost under its breath. The damsel in distress certainly wasn’t a well-bred lady using language like that. He crossed the long garden in a blink and opened the concealed gate, remembering the days he would come down here as a child to play with the farm kids and watch as they brought in the harvest. He shook his head to rid himself of the image and carried on, impervious to the heavy drops of storm rain, until he found the young lady who sat directly in the middle of his field.

“Can I help?” he said, and she jumped. She had obviously not heard him approach. “Oh, sorry I didn’t see or hear—I didn’t expect—yes, I’ve sprained my ankle, and I need to get back to my tent at the campsite up the road. You know it? I’m sorry to ask, but I’m kind of stuck.”

Hugh bent down, slipped an arm under her legs and braced the other around the bottom of her back. “What the hell do you think—” She didn’t finish her sentence as Hugh lifted her as easily as if she’d been a fallen lamb. “My bag,” she called weakly as Hugh turned and carried her back towards the house.

“It’s still back there.”

“I will return for it later,” Hugh said in a voice that brooked no argument. The young lady’s mouth snapped shut, and her hands grasped firmly to the back of his neck. Her scent was light and zesty with a floral hint that reminded Hugh of a rose garden when it was early in bloom. Her brown curls were flat against her head, and her face was paler than his. Her eyes were downcast, and she nibbled at her plump lower lip. He sensed her blood was good and strong, and he worked hard to erase images of ripping into her tender neck from his mind.