“What do we do? What do we do?” I was starting to get hysterical. Since I could remember, my friendship with Joshua had been my anchor, my reason for being, my life; now it, he, was running toward destruction like a storm-driven ship to a reef, and I couldn’t think of a thing to do but panic. “What do we do? What do we do?” I panted, the breath refusing to fill my lungs. Maggie grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me.
“You have a plan, remember.” She tugged on the amulet around my neck.
“Right, right,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Right. The plan.” I grabbed my tunic and slipped it over my head. Maggie helped me wrap the sash.
“I’m sorry, Simon,” I said.
He forgave me with the wave of a hand. “What do we do?”
“If they’re taking Joshua to the praetorium, that’s where we go. If Pilate releases him then we’ll need to get him out of there. There’s no telling what Josh will do to get them to kill him.”
We were waiting along with a huge crowd outside the Antonia Palace when the Temple guards brought Joshua to the front gates. The high priest, Caiaphas, wearing his blue robes and with a jewel-encrusted chest piece, led the procession. His father, Annas, who had been the high priest previously, followed right behind. A column of guards surrounded Joshua in the middle of the procession. We could just see him amid the guards, and I could tell that someone had put a fresh tunic on him, but there were stripes of blood soaking through the back. He looked as if he was in a trance.
There was a great deal of posturing and shouting between the Temple guards, and from somewhere in the procession Jakan came forward and started arguing with the soldiers as well. It was obvious that the Romans were not going to let the Temple guards enter the praetorium, so the transfer of the prisoner was going to take place there at the gate or not at all. I was measuring whether I could sneak through the crowd, snap Jakan’s neck, and sneak back out without jeopardizing our plan when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked around to see Joseph of Arimathea.
“At least it wasn’t a Roman scourge they lashed him with. He took thirty-nine lashes, but it was just leather, not the lead-tipped whip that the Romans use. That would have killed him.”
“Where were you? What took so long?”
“The prosecution took forever. Jakan went on half the night, taking testimony from witnesses who had obviously never even heard of Joshua, let alone seen any crime.”
“What about the defense?” asked Maggie.
“Well, I put forth a defense of good deeds, but it was so overwhelmed by the accusations that it was lost in the noise. Joshua didn’t say a word in his own defense. They asked him if he was the Son of God and he said yes. That confirmed the blasphemy charge. It’s all they needed, really.”
“What happens now? Did you talk to Pilate?”
“I did.”
“And?”
Joseph rubbed the bridge of his nose as if fighting a headache. “He said he’d see what he could do.”
We watched as the Roman soldiers took Joshua inside and the priests followed. The Pharisees, commoners in the eyes of the Romans, were left outside. A legionnaire almost caught Jakan’s face in the gate when he slammed it.
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, and I looked up to a high, wide balcony that was visible above the palace walls. It had obviously been designed by Herod the Great’s architects as a platform from which the king could address the masses in the Temple without compromising his safety. A tall Roman in a lush red robe was standing on the balcony looking down on the crowd, and not looking particularly happy with their presence.
“Is that Pilate?” I asked Joseph, pointing to the Roman.
Joseph nodded. “He’ll go downstairs to hold Joshua’s trial.”
But I wasn’t interested at that point in where Pilate was going. What interested me was the centurion who stood behind him wearing the full-crested helmet and breastplate of a legion commander.
Not a half hour later the gate was opened and a squad of Roman soldiers brought Joshua out of the palace in bonds. A lower-rank centurion pulled Joshua along by a rope around his wrists. The priests followed along behind and were mobbed with questions by the Pharisees who had been waiting outside.
“Go find out what’s going on,” I said to Joseph.
We waded into the middle of the procession that followed. Most were screaming at Joshua and trying to spit on him. I spotted a few people in the crowd that I knew to be Joshua’s followers, but they were going along silently, their eyes darting around as if any second they might be the next one arrested.
Simon, Andrew, and I followed behind at some distance, while Maggie fought the crowd to get close to Joshua. I saw her throw herself at her ex-husband, Jakan, who was trailing the priests, but she was stopped in mid-leap by Joseph of Arimathea, who caught her by the hair and pulled her back. Someone else was helping restrain her, but he wore a shawl over his head so I couldn’t tell who it was. Probably Peter.
Joseph dragged Maggie back to us and handed her over to me and Simon.
“She’ll get herself killed.”
Maggie looked up at me, a wildness in her eyes that I couldn’t read, either anger or madness. I wrapped my arms around her and held her so her arms were pinned to her sides as we walked along. The man with the hood walked along beside me, his hand on Maggie’s shoulder, steadying her. When he looked at me I could see it was Peter. The wiry fisherman seemed to have aged twenty years since I’d seen him Tuesday night.
“They’re taking him to Antipas,” Peter said. “As soon as Pilate heard Joshua was from Galilee he said it wasn’t his jurisdiction and sent him to Herod.”
“Maggie,” I said into her ear, “please stop being a madwoman. My plan just went to hell and I could use some critical thinking.”
Once again we waited outside of one of the palaces built by Herod the Great, but this time, because it was a Jewish king in residence, the Pharisees were let in and Joseph of Arimathea went in with them. A few minutes later he was back outside again.
“He’s trying to get Joshua to perform a miracle,” Joseph said. “He’ll let him go if Joshua performs a miracle for him.”
“And if Joshua won’t do it?”
“He won’t,” said Maggie.
“If he won’t do it,” Joseph said, “we’re back where we started. It will be up to Pilate to order the Sanhedrin’s death sentence carried out or to release Joshua.”
“Maggie, come with me,” I said, tugging at her dress as I backed away.
“Why, where?”
“The plan’s back on.” I ran back to the praetorium, with Maggie in tow. I pulled up by a pillar across from the Antonia Palace. “Maggie, can Peter really heal? Really?”
“Yes, I told you.”
“Wounds? Broken bones?”
“Wounds, yes. I don’t know about bones.”
“I hope so,” I said.
I left her there while I went to the highest-ranking centurion stationed outside the gates.
“I need to see your commander,” I said.
“Go away, Jew.”
“I’m a friend. Tell him it’s Levi from Nazareth.”
“I’ll tell him nothing.”
So I stepped up and took the centurion’s sword out of its scabbard, put the point under his chin for a split second, then replaced it in its scabbard. He reached for the sword and suddenly it was in my hand and under his chin again. Before he could call out the sword was back in its scabbard.
“There,” I said, “you owe me your life twice. By the time you call to have me arrested I’ll have your sword again and you’ll not only be embarrassed but your head will be all wobbly from your throat being cut. Or, you can take me to see my friend Gaius Justus Gallicus, commander of the Sixth Legion.”
Then I took a deep breath and waited. The centurion’s eyes darted to the soldiers closest to him, then back to me. “Think, Centurion,” I said. “If you arrest me, where will I end up anyway?” The logic of it seemed to strike him through his frustration.