Centurions had arrived and thrown
Judas’ boys including John, face flat
against the hood of the chariot and were frisking them.
“**** it,” Iscariot muttered.
Simon however, was relieved for his part.
At least they hadn’t been busted themselves.
Besides John and the old woman,
the gang consisted of a few guys
Judas used for muscle who were otherwise
nothing more than small time grifters.
That might satisfy Pilate and keep him
off their backs for a while. The boys hadn’t
resisted the arrest and as far as Judas and
Simon could tell hadn’t squawked.
Evening was rearing up and the horizon
was turning brown. The blue and white beacons
of the wagon set the shadows into colorful
motion traveling back to Jerusalem
with the gang in custody.
The lone centurion we had sent back to Pilate
was having his wounds tended when the Prefect
himself showed up. It had been reported that
the guy returned all shot up, crying
that we’d slaughtered half the town
and his entire brigade including the captain.
Pilate dismissed the nurse and sat at the
centurion’s bedside, looking worriedly
at the guy who was bandaged up like a mummy.
“I heard the Teacher and his gang did this. Is that true?”
The guy nodded as best he could.  
“You haven’t got a thing to worry about.
That guy is looking at crucifixion for this.
  You have a wife and kids back in Rome, is that right?”
The guy acknowledged the question with his eyes,
it being too painful to try to move.
“I’ll see that they’re looked after.
You’ve got a pension coming. I’ll see that it’s doubled
and that you receive a hero’s tribute.”
The guy was smiling with his eyes & there
was Pilate lying to his pitiful face. The guy
even knew he was lying but it didn’t matter.
He wouldn’t live long enough to care.
His wounds were more than superficial.
The bleeding was unabated, the bandages
merely holding him together for the time.
Without them, his guts would fall out. On his way out,
Pilate ordered the bandages removed.