I turned away so that he could not see the disgust on my face. How ironic, I thought, as he led me downstairs to the lobby. Six years ago Caiaphas had paid Judas thirty silver shekels for the living body of Jesus. Now he was willing to pay a thousand times that amount for the dead one!

Joseph and I were both silent during the short ride back to his mansion, until the old man said softly, “I believe it would be wise if you plan to see Pilate early in the morning. It will not be difficult for me to arrange.”

“Why?” I asked absentmindedly, still reviewing all I had learned from Caiaphas.

When he didn’t reply I turned to face him. He tilted his head backward several times before I understood and looked out through our rear carriage window.

Not far behind, on a gray stallion, was the black-hooded rider I thought we had lost on the road to Bethany.

ten

TWO SENTINELS, high atop flagstone walls, stared down at us suspiciously as we emerged from the carriage and approached the gates to Rome’s military headquarters in Jerusalem. Shields, body armor, and even their long supple spears glinted menacingly in the early morning sun.

“Our welcoming committee,” Joseph said casually.

“What would it take for them to let those javelins fly?”

The old man chuckled. “They are only Syrian auxiliaries, Matthias, and would undoubtedly miss their mark by several cubits from that height.”

“How comforting.”

“We are no more than a momentary diversion for them. Their main concern is in that direction.” He nodded toward the adjoining great Temple, whose marble and gold facade glowed in vivid contrast to its flinty-gray, dingy neighbor.

I had once read that during his later years as puppet king of Israel, Herod had erected a huge golden eagle on the foremost part of the Temple roof so that it could be viewed from anywhere in the city. Before his death he had suffered the ultimate humiliation of seeing his tasteless and sacrilegious tribute to Rome pulled down and destroyed by a small band of Jewish scholars.

Thirty or more years had passed since the eagle had fallen, but now a far more intimidating and deadly symbol cast its degrading shadow across the people and their holy place of worship. Squatting on a domelike hill of hard limestone that soared high above the Temple’s tallest pinnacle was the fortress called Antonia, presently occupied by more than a thousand Roman legionaires and auxiliaries.