When I finally looked up, after my head stopped ringing, Pilate had been joined by another officer, also in full dress even to his cape.

“Tell me, Matthias, who is this tribune standing next to me?”

He was young and his black hair was trimmed close to his head. His nose had been broken, at least once, and his skin was as dark as Pilate’s. Eyes, brown. Mouth, surly. Scars, none. Who could he be that Pilate thought I should know him if I were not an impostor? Someone from Rome? Or Antioch? From Vitellius, maybe?

In all my research on Vitellius, one man associated with him had especially intrigued me, probably because so little had been recorded about him. According to the Jewish historian Josephus, a council of Samaritans had gone to Vitellius and complained that Pilate had slain many of their people while they were gathering to conduct religious ceremonies on Mount Gerizim. Apparently this complaint, following so many others lodged against Pilate through the years, had been the final straw, because Josephus wrote that Vitellius dispatched a friend named Marcellus to relieve Pilate of his administration and to send the procurator back to Rome to account to the emperor for his misdeeds. In my unfinished book I had originally planned, before I had lost faith in the project, to make the historical Marcellus a member of my fictional Christ Commission, and I would have had him send Pilate back to Rome, at the end, not for his crime against the Samaritans but for his illegal actions against Jesus.

Was I actually face to face with the man who would have been the hero of my book, had I ever completed it? It was all so bizarre and unreal that I began to laugh despite my precarious position.

“You find this man comical, Matthias?” Pilate growled in surprise.

“No, no,” I said. “To the contrary. He is one of Rome’s finest soldiers and a friend of Vitellius. His name is Marcellus.”

Pilate fell back as if I had struck him. He spun around and glanced at Marcellus, who shook his head in wonder. I decided to keep bluffing, even though I had a bad hand. I had nothing to lose. According to Josephus, Marcellus came to relieve Pilate in the latter part of A.D. 36 or early 37. Well, this was the latter part of A.D. 36! Was Marcellus here to assume command? Even more important, had he not broken the news to Pilate as yet? What would happen if I shook them both up?

“Pilate,” I began, “you seem surprised that I should know this man’s name. Do not be. I can do even more, by sharing a secret of state with you that affects your very future.”

He waited, eyeing me with a combination of distrust and hate that did little for my confidence.