Wanting to avoid detection, he lowered his face and pushed through the crowd. His path led him close to Jesus. The handsome man’s legs dangled on either side of the donkey as he rode, parting his tunic. Out of the corner of his eye, the magician spotted something dark that had smeared between the donkey’s back and the rider’s thigh. Pushing against the toss of the crowd, he looked again to make sure he had not been seeing things. This time he was certain.

It was fresh blood.

CHAPTER 47

The city of Jerusalem—33 A.D.

The guests dining with Pilate heard the pounding of the soldier’s feet long before he arrived. The soldier came to a stop before the lavish feast. “Sir!” he erupted, slapping his hand against his armored chest. “There is unrest outside the Temple’s west gate.”

Pilate lifted his eyes from his roast hen. He spoke calmly so as not to alarm his guests, one of whom held an amorous interest. “Are there not soldiers enough to quell the incursion?”

The soldier shook his head. “Though we are well armed, we are vastly outnumbered.”

Pilate glanced across the table at Caiaphas and nodded evenly. He then tore the hen’s leg from its roasted body with a wet thunk. “Tell the commander at the north gate to dispatch a third of his troops.” When it was clear Pilate had issued his command in full, the soldier bowed and fled down the hall.

Pilate turned the guinea hen’s leg in his greasy fingers. As Passover approached, rebellions and protests were growing in number and intensity. The rabble were angered over a variety of issues: corruption among Temple priests, unfair taxes, an emphasis on Law over spirit, the rise of one God over ancient and revered deities, and on and on went the complaints. Charged with the task of bringing stability to the Empire in Palestine, he had spent months seeking a strategy that would quell the uprisings and unite the disparate factions. But so far, he had found no way to pacify the citizens.

Pilate turned his gaze toward the woman whom one day he wished to wed. He smiled at her with a cool confidence that belied the worry itching his belly. “Soon I will make an example out of one of these unfortunate rebels,” he threatened, hoping to impress her.

CHAPTER 48

Somewhere within ancient Palestine—33 A.D.

Dawn washed slowly over the sky, soaking the horizon with the colors of ripe fruit.