Chapter 2

A Meeting in the Tomb Garden

(13)

With leaden feet, Vitellius climbed the stairs to the palace of the most important Jewish authorities. It weighed heavily on him that they had failed in their mission—the mission they had considered ridiculous. The stone had been removed from the tomb, and they had fled. Anything could have happened to the body of the Jewish Rabbi. He realized that the ludicrous mission of guarding the grave of a dead Rabbi had been a serious matter for the Jewish authorities. The long stone staircase seemed endless. The magnificent cypress trees on either side still cast long shadows this early in the morning. The gate seemed never to be in sight. They had failed miserably in this simple, top-priority task. Vitellius considered how he would deliver the message. Their lives could depend on the words he would speak in the coming minutes. These could be their last hours. The closer he approached the gate, the more oppressive the message he had to deliver became. It could only seem absurd and unrealistic. By delivering such a message, he would embarrass the entire Roman army. Only disaster could result.

Vitellius remained standing on the last steps of the staircase. He could still turn back. He wondered if this was the best option. He considered the consequences and possible next steps of each of their alternatives: fleeing to Syria or fleeing into the arms of the authorities they had failed. Then he climbed the last steps and knocked on the massive gatehouse door. It took a moment before a maid opened the door.

"Avé, Private Vitellius of the guard at the tomb is reporting."

Vitellius sounded more confident than he felt.

The maid let him in and asked him to wait in the gatehouse. Shortly afterward, he saw a young priest in a white robe approaching him.

"You are one of the soldiers of the guard at the tomb?"

"Avé, Private Vitellius is reporting. I have come to report on our mission."

"But why are you doing this here, at the priest's residence?"

"You are the one who called us. With you, we inspected the tomb, checked for the presence of the body, and sealed it with the Roman seal."

"That could be. But shouldn't you nevertheless report to your superior at Fort Antonia?

"No, things have happened at the tomb that you should know about first."

"What kind of things?"

Vitellius hesitated. Now that it was time to act, he wondered how much information he could divulge and in what order. This irritated the young priest, who had been startled by the report of events and was beginning to worry.

"Well, speak up, sir. You came here to report, didn't you?"

Vitellius immediately sensed the priest's fear, and that gave him courage. The more fearful they were, the better his chances of getting something done.

"Did you notice any earthquake here?" Vitellius asked.

"Why do you ask?" he countered. “You are the one who has come to give me information, not the other way around.”

“There was a strong earthquake at the grave that lasted for some time.”

“Is that all you have come to tell us? Then you can go to your superior now.”

“No, that is not all. The earthquake was caused by something supernatural.”

At the word “supernatural,” a slight shiver ran through the young priest’s frame. The seasoned soldier saw the fear growing in his opponents and felt renewed strength to continue his story.

“It was probably what you would call an angel,” he said fearlessly. And then he gave the most frightening description possible of what had happened early that morning at the Rabbi’s grave. To his satisfaction, he saw the priest turn pale and stand so unsteadily on his feet that he had to hold on to the doorpost. For a moment, the men remained silent. Then the priest turned without a word and walked with uncertain steps back to the palace. He left Vitellius alone in the gatehouse. It was some time before Vitellius noticed any movement near the palace again. Several times he felt tempted to run away, to return to his comrades for consultation. But there was nothing to discuss. Everything was still very uncertain. The fear he had seen in the priest's eyes gave him hope for a happy ending. Suddenly, an older priest approached him. The sun, just peeking over the courtyard wall, shone on the man's face, and Vitellius noticed that it was wrinkled and looked very tired.

"So, you've had an encounter with an angel?" the old priest asked. "Tell me, what happened?"

"Ave, Private Vitellius, I'll give you an account of the events at the tomb."

The old priest nodded silently and looked at Vitellius suspiciously.

"Early in the morning, before sunrise, a man in a luminous form descended from the sky at great speed. The light was blinding, and it suddenly seemed as bright as a sunlit day. His feet touched the ground, causing a powerful earthquake, so that we could no longer stand. He rolled the heavy stone away from the tomb as if it were a wagon wheel and sat on it.

The old priest was already aware of this story and was undeterred. Without blinking, he stared straight into Vitellius's eyes and said:

"And you? What did you do?"

Vitellius was careful not to show any fear and looked the old priest straight in the face as he replied: "We could do nothing. No weapon will be effective against a heavenly being like that angel we saw."

"And your companions, are they all still at the tomb?"

Vitellius knew this was the crucial question. He understood that this old priest would not be fooled by lies. Any suspicion of untruth would lead to inquiries with the Roman authorities in the fortress, and that had to be avoided at all costs. Vitellius knew he had to confide in this man and expose himself and all his companions. He threw his fate into the old priest's hands when he replied:

"The fear of the lightning-like figure had such a hold on us that we all ran away."

The old man's eyes widened, revealing his weariness and hollowness in full view. There was a moment of silence. The priest's next words struck harder than many a sword blow from Vitellius's soldierly past:

"We'll report this immediately to your centurion in Fortress Antonia," and with that, he turned and walked back to the palace.

"Wait a moment..." Vitellius felt powerless and followed the old man. "Perhaps we can still do something to make it up to you."

Without turning, the priest said: "Nothing can atone for last night's act of cowardice."

"But if you report this, it will be our death," Vitellius said to the priest's back.

“You should have thought of that when you saw the angel’s apparition.”

“Apparition? You have no idea how overwhelming that heavenly figure was.”

“Where are the others?” the priest asked, suddenly turning around.

Vitellius was startled. The sudden threat of the centurion made his heart turn like wax in the old man’s hands.

“Five of us are here in Jerusalem. The others are… We don’t know where the others are.”

“Where are the others? You know.”

Vitellius sighed. The old man seemed to have grasped everything. “They’ve probably gone to the legion in Syria.”

For a few moments, the man looked intently at Vitellius, as if trying to read all his thoughts, his feelings, and his intentions. Then his eyes narrowed and he said,

“Where are your four companions?”

“They’re somewhere at the bottom of the palace stairs, unless they’ve run away.”

“We’ll check it out. You’re my guest today, anyway. I’ll ask my servant to go find your companions, and then I’ll have them invited for today as well. After that, we priests will first make a plan of action.”

The old priest’s eyes were still fixed on him as he said,

“We must do everything we can to verify the story.”

 

(14)

They strode side by side down the long, winding staircase. Although they sometimes climbed the stairs several times a day, they had to be careful of the uneven, long steps and uneven stones.

“What did you want to talk to me about this morning, anyway?” Malchus asked Jonathan, the young priest.

“What? Oh, yes.” I wanted to ask you about that affair on the night of the preparation.

"You mean, the night we arrested the Rabbi from Galilee?"

"Yes, that's what I mean. With all the commotion this morning, I hadn't thought about it."

"But which affair exactly are you referring to?"

"Didn't you get a sword blow to your ear?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Did you see who did it?"

"No, the blow came out of nowhere. I suddenly felt a thud against my head."

"And were there others who were there who saw something?"

‘I don’t know. I should ask.’

‘High Priest Annas insists we find out who struck you with the sword.’

‘But why does he want to know?’

Jonathan remained standing. Malchus stopped a step below. He looked at Jonathan questioningly.

‘And why do you want to know?’ Jonathan asked.

Malchus shrugged.

‘If I know what it’s for, perhaps I can search more specifically.’

‘Search more specifically? You should just find all the information about that incident I can find.’

‘Okay, then I will,’ Malchus replied.

Jonathan continued walking, and in silence they approached the street where the long stone steps led to. Jonathan had made the connection clear. For although Malchus was much older and could almost be his father, he was the slave, and Jonathan was an important priest who even had a chance of becoming high priest in the future.

Arriving at the bottom, they glanced left and right down the street. At first they saw nothing, but then Malchus said:

“There they are. Over there on that low wall opposite the vineyard.”

Together, Jonathan and Malchus walked over to the four Roman soldiers on the wall.

“Are you soldiers on guard at the tomb?”

The soldiers looked up in alarm. They apparently hadn’t expected to be addressed by a Jewish priest. They hesitated before answering. Then one of them said:

“Yes, that’s right.”

“What are you doing here? Why aren’t you on guard at the tomb?”

“Didn’t Vitellius tell you? He’s one of us and just came to tell you what happened.”

“What he told you is none of your business. I want an answer from you.”

The soldiers looked at each other with doubtful eyes. Then they said: “There were strange things happening at the tomb early this morning.” A terrible, luminous man came down from heaven, caused an earthquake, and rolled away the stone.

“And that’s your reason for running away?” Jonathan asked sharply.

“You can’t imagine how terrible it was. Any sane person would have run away under those circumstances,” he said, somewhat indignantly.

“You weren’t put there to think, but to keep watch. And where are the others?” Jonathan demanded sharply.

“Which others, exactly?”

“The other soldiers of the guard, of course. According to my father, there were sixteen soldiers stationed at the tomb.”

“Your father? Are you the son of the high priest?”

“Of Annas, yes.”

The soldiers immediately stood and politely saluted. They realized Jonathan held an important position.

“But will I get an answer to my question?” Jonathan asked, looking at the soldier who had spoken so far.

“We don’t know where the others are,” was the reply.

“Yes, you do,” came the stern tone.

The soldier sighed and replied, “We think they’ve gone to Syria to join Legio XII-Fulminata in Raphana.”

Caught in a lie, they gave more details than was actually necessary.

Jonathan and Malchus exchanged a triumphant glance before Jonathan continued his cross-examination.

“Hasn’t it occurred to you that the body could be stolen by anyone by now?”

“You’re not sending us back to the grave, are you? It was about time for our relief by then.”

“If the entire guard has fled, there will be no more to relieve. You have committed the most serious dereliction of duty.”

The soldiers fell silent in agreement.

“The Jewish authorities will have to consider what we should do with you. In the meantime, you will stay in my father's palace.'

For a moment, it seemed the soldiers would resist. But Jonathan said:

'Fleeing to Syria is pointless. If we report this at Fort Antonia, a manhunt will break out, which will end in a terrible end.'

The soldiers exchanged dejected glances. There was nothing for it but to climb the stairs to the priestly palace with Jonathan and Malchus.

 

(15)

An endless line of peasants entered the city along the causeway that led north between Jerusalem's hills. Cheerful psalms, accompanied by flutes, echoed against the city wall. In stark contrast, a priest father stood some distance from the road with his hands on the shoulders of his son, sobbing loudly.

'Saraf, you must put this aside now. It happened, and there's nothing we can do to change it.

"Just think about something else for a moment, that will help," his eldest son, standing beside him, chimed in.

There was a moment of silence. Father and son watched the effect their words had on the grieving boy. If their words had any effect, there was no sign of it. Saraf stared into the distance with tearful, expressionless eyes, still sobbing.

"Do you remember? Tonight, for the first time in your life, you may stand guard in the temple.”

It took a moment before, to the great relief of father and son, a faint smile broke through the tears. Saraf wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

“Shall we go back home now? We’ll walk through the town with the farmers.”

“And Mother was going to bake us something delicious, remember?”

Comforted by so many happy prospects, Saraf sprang into action and, without a word, began the walk back to the town. Father and Reuben exchanged relieved glances and quickly followed him. They had been walking for a while, and were already close to the flute-playing procession, when Saraf suddenly turned and walked briskly back to the place where the cross posts were set in the ground. Reuben and his father exchanged shocked glances. Father hesitated for a moment and then also walked back to Golgotha, with Reuben following behind. When they arrived, they saw Saraf, once again overcome with grief, standing with his arms around the cross.

"Saraf, you have to stop now," Father began. "Leave this alone and come home with me."

"Go ahead, you two, I'll be there soon," he said resolutely.

Father sighed and had to let this suggestion sink in for a moment. Then he decided:

"Don't you forget you're on duty tonight?"

"No, of course not!" he said sharply.

"Well, then we'll leave you here alone for a while. We're going back now, otherwise I'll be late for my duty in the temple."

There was no response from Saraf. He still stood with his arms around the cross, apparently processing his great disappointment. Father and Ruben exchanged a brief glance and started back, leaving Saraf alone. After standing still for a while, Saraf began to tire. He lowered his arms, took a step back, and read the words on the verdict board again:

‘Iesous ho Nazoraios ho Basileus toon Ioudaion – Iesus Nazarenus, Rex Iudaeorum – Yeshua Hanozri Melech Hajehudim’

Disappointment and sorrow once again flooded his soul. He slowly shook his head in disbelief as tears flowed again. When he had calmed down a bit, he noticed the stench. He looked around and saw an earthen wall a little further away. He walked towards it, but as he climbed up, the stench hit him in the face. It was a garbage dump. He was shocked to discover the emaciated carcasses of several crucified people among the rubbish. A few ravens, which had flown up as he climbed the wall, landed a little further on. Saraf shuddered at the thought that the Rabbi's body might also be lying there somewhere. He quickly walked back to the cross posts. There he sat, by "his" cross, his back against the wood, overlooking the joyful procession still singing as it passed by.

A starker contrast was unimaginable. The emaciated and half-eaten corpses he had just seen, contrasted with the pilgrims bearing delicious fruits from the still-fresh land, accompanied by joyful songs. Saraf shook his head, unable to imagine that the Rabbi, upon whom his hopes and those of so many others had been so firmly placed, would have met such a gruesome end. As he leaned the back of his head against the crosspost, he saw a small group approaching. As they drew closer, Saraf stood up. There were, of course, more people who had heard of the events and wanted to see the place for themselves. Afraid they could see the grief on his face, Saraf turned and walked between the cross posts.

Saraf came to a narrow path, which he followed toward a grove of faded almond trees. Between the trees, the pool was strewn with blossoms. The deep emotions that were new to him awakened a courageous curiosity in him, and he decided to continue along the path. Past the grove of almond trees, the path curved to the right and then climbed quite steeply up the hill, whose enormous hollows resembled a skull. Saraf reasoned that the place probably took its name from that hill. Or was it the skulls he had seen among the garbage?

A short distance uphill, the path curved to the left again and then continued to curve level with the hill. On the left side of the path, laurel bushes formed a protective hedge before a precipice that dropped steeply in places. On the right, a low growth of anemones and cyclamen stretched between the cypresses over the mostly bare rocks. Suddenly, a stench hit Saraf again. At a spot where the vegetation thinned out a bit, he peered down through the branches. In a deep hollow between the hills he saw a second dumping ground for waste and he quickly walked on. Only when he was walking along the early blossoming daffodils of white lilies, the smell of rotting garbage gave way to a pungent, sweet floral scent. Not long after, the mountain path curved downward. It wound quite steeply and winding down into the depths, and Saraf had to watch his step. At the foot of the hill, the path led toward a low wall of large boulders. Directly beyond it, Saraf saw a row of cypress trees. It looked like a garden. Curiously, Saraf followed the path to the garden entrance.

 

(16)

Pilate couldn't take his eyes off a crack in the ceiling of one of the palace's study rooms. His head leaned slightly back on a support. Carefully, the barber ran his razor-sharp blade along the skin of Pilate's face, evening out all the stubble for another day. A Roman his age went through life clean-shaven. A short beard would have suited him well, even down to the first gray hair. But when the gray hairs became too much for the tweezers, he had taken to shaving off his beard completely. Moreover, in the army, all facial hair was quickly disposed of.

The crack in the ceiling brought Pilate to the events of the last days. Earthquakes had shaken Jerusalem to its foundations twice in a short period. The first, moreover, had been preceded by hours of mysterious darkness. Everything seemed connected to the execution of the Jewish Rabbi. "Seemed," because these natural phenomena were, of course, nothing more than a coincidence.

As the Barber's practiced hand moved the knife precisely across the skin of Pilate's face, Pilate's thoughts lingered on the Rabbi. He observed that the religious authorities were so terrified that they wanted the tomb guarded even after his death. In Pilate's view, it was a ridiculous idea, but on the other hand, it was unknown how fanatical the Rabbi's followers were. A possible theft of the body and the subsequent message based on an empty tomb could throw all of Jerusalem into turmoil, he reasoned. Besides the Pharisees, Sadducees, Essenes, and Zealots, they had no need for yet another Jewish sect. However strange the guard's mission may have seemed at first glance, and however indignant he had been when the Jews requested it, in retrospect, this guard could nip more problems in the bud than he had initially imagined.

Pilate felt the barber's blade pass from his chin to the other side of his face, and with it, his thoughts shifted. He couldn't really spare the men stationed at the tomb. These were heydays in Jerusalem, the beating heart of the Jewish religion. Days like these brought thousands of Jewish pilgrims to their feet, and along with them, bands of robbers. Sixteen of his best soldiers stood by the tomb of a dead Rabbi, while capacity on such days was always limited. Pilate soon realized he was right to be concerned about the safety of Jewish pilgrims. The barber was still cleaning his clothes when a knock sounded. A patrol had arrived to report. Pilate touched the curve of his clean-shaven chin with the flat of his hand as the leader of a patrol stepped in and gave the military salute.

"Soldier Sergius reports to report."

Pilate frowned at the man. An infantryman reporting to him was a warning sign. Infantrymen reported to the centurion in the Antonia fortress. He likely had a message that he also needed to hear, and that usually meant that action had to be taken. Somewhat reluctantly, Pilate decided to listen to the story.

"Speak out, soldier Sergius."

"On the road to Jericho, just past the village of Bethany, our eight-man infantry group encountered a commotion. Early in the morning, a band of robbers attacked a group of travelers who were putting up fierce resistance. Just as we passed by, the fighting was in full swing. One of the travelers lay wounded on the sidelines. We joined the fray. Then it was quickly over. The band fled. The Syrian archer who was with us shot one of the robbers through the heart. We buried him by the roadside. One robber was wounded. We captured him.

"Why are you reporting this to me?"

"Centurion Maximus wanted you to hear my story."

"Excellent infantryman, you may go."

After saluting again, Sergius walked to the door. Just before leaving the room, Pilate briefly asked for his attention:

"Infantryman Sergius."

From the doorway, Sergius turned.

"Excellent work!"

Sergius nodded and closed the door behind him.

Pilate took a few steps and sat down behind his marble writing table. A vague smile crossed his face as he picked up a tablet and a stylus to jot down the day's key points. But instead of writing, he glanced across his desk, Sergius's message circling in his mind. Rome could be proud of its soldiers. What kind of impoverished chaos would Judea have fallen into without the iron discipline and fighting power of the Roman troops? "Shot through the heart by a Syrian archer," the infantryman had said. Syrian archers in the Roman ranks were unmatched. They could aim with lightning speed and with pinpoint accuracy. No one escaped their well-aimed arrows. And who could match the ferocious fighting spirit of infantrymen? They trained daily as if in a perpetual state of war. No army, past or present, could compare to the skill and craftsmanship of the Roman military, whether legionaries or auxilia, the troops recruited from conquered peoples. Pilate's gaze shifted from the chair where he had just shaved to the window. Several soldiers passed by his window, chatting. His justified pride in the quality of the Roman troops gave way to the concern of distributing them among the enormous crowds currently populating Judea. He needed his army everywhere at once these days, both in the city and on the roads beyond. The fact that Maximus had sent the infantryman to him to report it indicated that the centurion was also worried. This incident served to underscore how heavily the troops were currently stretched. And so Pilate's thoughts returned to the guard at the tomb. Sixteen soldiers were guarding a dead man while they were desperately needed on the roads leading out of the city. Incidentally, it was already two o'clock in the morning, and the soldiers were about to be relieved. The chief priests had said three days. One more day. Then those would be over, and he would have all his troops at his disposal again.

 

(17)

The sounds of Jerusalem filtered in through the small window at shoulder height. As the morning wore on, the city's noise had swelled. For a while, the piercing notes of a horn filled the air, then gave way to an increasingly boisterous chant of endlessly repeated psalms. The first festival Vitellius had witnessed in Jerusalem gave him the impression of a vast crowd of people crowded together, moving through the streets and squares. He tried to see something, but his window overlooked a courtyard and was, moreover, covered with a wickerwork grille on the outside, preventing him from seeing anything of the city.

He turned and paced back and forth in the small room. He felt trapped like a predator in a cage. He was a fine host, that high priest, he concluded sarcastically. Since a slave had led him into this room and the door had been closed, he had heard nothing. He didn't know if his comrades had been sought, found, and retrieved. He didn't know how long he would have to sit there, or what the priests were up to in the meantime. He knew nothing, and felt abandoned.

Shortly after being brought into the room, he had checked whether the door to his room was locked. It hadn't. If he really wanted to, he could have walked out and searched for the palace exit. But it was most likely locked. And what good would that do? In this situation, he couldn't reach Fort Antonia, or any other Roman fort for that matter, as most of the other guards were trying to do. He couldn't bear to think of the consequences of their dereliction of duty. It might even be considered desertion. There was nothing for it but to wait out the outcome here in the palace.

Vitellius sat down, for the umpteenth time, on the only chair in the room. He thought of his comrades, whom he had left on the wall in the street at the bottom of the stairs. Had they waited to see if he'd come for them? Despite the tension, he couldn't suppress a smile when he realized that instead of their companion, a priest had suddenly stood before them, probably peppering them with questions about their failed mission. It was gallows humor. That failed mission could be fatal. No, it would be fatal. How could this ever end well for them?

While he sat brooding, the door suddenly swung open. It was Annas, the old high priest, who strode in with a determined step and carefully closed the door behind him. Vitellius immediately jumped to attention, but Annas gestured with his hand for him to sit down again.

"Well, we need to catch up," Annas began, as Vitellius obediently sat down again.

Vitellius looked up anxiously. His heart was pounding.

"We've also invited your comrades to the palace, and you'll stay here for the time being."

Annas watched the effect of his words for a moment. Vitellius rested his elbows on his thighs, still looking up intently.

"Your fellow soldiers have also admitted their cowardly dereliction of duty, and they've also told us that you were the one who stayed at the tomb the longest."

Vitellius remained silent, but at this remark he sat up in his chair, his back against the wall.

"Since you stayed at the tomb the longest, you also have the clearest memory of the events, and you will return to the tomb with the slave Malchus to tell him exactly what you saw and how it happened. You will also investigate what happened to the body."

Vitellius was shocked. He hadn't expected this. He had sworn inwardly never to return to that horrific tomb.

"And if I refuse to return to that haunted place?"

"That place isn't haunted. There must be a logical explanation for your stories, and you will help find it. If not, then…" Annas couldn't finish his sentence because a sudden anger overtook Vitellius, and he exclaimed:

"You must think we've gone mad! There were sixteen of us, and we've all gone through the same terrible experience. These aren't stories; this was real. More real than anything I've ever experienced. You can't imagine it at all because you haven't seen it. You can't demand that I return there."

"... if not, then we'll report the governor's dereliction of duty," Annas finished imperturbably.

Vitellius remained silent. He was startled by his own outburst of anger in the presence of this important priest and by his imperturbable demeanor.

Annas indeed kept a straight face, though he was pleased to note that his words were provoking the intended reaction. He saw that he had the soldier pinned down by the fear of death. This was his skill: using the fear, present in all people in one way or another, as a tool to achieve his goals. Fear, for Annas, was the most effective means of control he knew. He always managed to utilize it optimally, even now, with the intrepid Roman legionary.

The sound of psalms and flute music still resonated through the small window. Vitellius weighed his chances. How far would he get if he continued to refuse to go to the garden tomb? Could he leave the palace easily? Could he find his comrades to fight their way out together? The priests were no match, but he had seen a few burly slaves at work. The gate was exceptionally sturdy, and the walls were high. And if they managed to break out, could they hide in the crowds from Legio X Fretensis and leave the city unnoticed? And where would they go? The thought of the legion he was so proud of made him shudder this time.

The old priest, meanwhile, observed every detail of his expression, still waiting for an answer. Vitellius looked at the priest and sighed. His thoughts drifted to the garden tomb. Could that lightning still be perched on that stone? It was daytime now. Perhaps he would look much less frightening then—if he were still there. The figure had spoken to women. They hadn't fled. Vitellius relaxed slightly. The feeling of shame, which he had also felt this morning, right after their escape, during his walk along the wall, returned. Then he made a wise decision and nodded meekly in the direction of the watching old priest.

"Look, a wise decision," the priest responded cheerfully. “I will immediately call Malchus to prepare to go with you to inspect the Rabbi’s tomb.”

(18)

His adventurous exploration of the area around Golgotha briefly eased Saraf’s grief over the heartbreaking injustice he had witnessed that morning. The pilgrim’s song, which resonated constantly in the distance, was drowned out by the song of birds. The rhythmic song of the chiffchaff predominated. As he approached the garden, Saraf noticed that the cypress trees had been trimmed short, like a hedge, except at the corners of the garden. There, the stately trees towered proudly to their full height.

As he passed the low stone wall and the cypress hedge, a pleasant floral scent once again greeted him. This time it came from the irises planted along the edges of the garden. The part of the garden that Saraf could overlook was primarily used for growing vegetables and herbs. The path ran between a variety of vegetable beds. To the left and right of the path, Saraf saw narrow paths between varied vegetable and herb beds. He walked through the vegetable and herb beds. He recognized some plants. He saw the lentils, with their irregular leaf structures, growing in neat rows. Then he spotted chickpeas, their small leaves arranged in rows along the stem. A little further on, he passed beds of young leek plants. He walked past garlic, and on the other side of the path, he saw young onion plants. He noticed that the radish plants were already quite tall. They were almost ready to harvest. He pulled a radish from the ground, cleaned it with his hands, and popped it in his mouth. He savored the deliciously sharp and fresh flavor.

After passing many vegetables and herbs, the path Saraf followed from the entrance through the garden seemed to end at a low wall topped with a hedge. However, at the last moment, the path curved to the right. Saraf walked along the hedge toward the rock face, which there dropped very steeply, practically vertically. Further on, the path meandered left again, to another part of the garden. He noticed that the vegetable beds were becoming sparse here, giving way to wild grass. As he followed the path as it curved to the left, he looked up at the clear blue sky from the steep cliff face.

Suddenly, Saraf stopped dead in his tracks. His heart pounded in his throat, and he felt the urge to turn around and follow the path back to the exit and home. But something inside him held him back. There, straight ahead of him, just before the cliff face, in the waist-high grass, stood two men. One of them, the taller one, about a head taller than the other, was dressed entirely in white. The other was dressed in a faded blue cloak. The two men stood in the same position as he and his father had this morning. The large man in white rested his hands on the other's shoulders, who occasionally looked up and then down again.

The sight of the two men was so impressive that Saraf stood motionless, watching them. He noticed that the sun cast a golden glow on the man in white's hair. Only later would Saraf realize that this was impossible, as the sun was still completely hidden behind the rock face at that time of morning. Saraf stood too far away to hear what was being said. It seemed the man in white was speaking encouragingly and comfortingly to the smaller man. Occasionally, he would lift a hand from his shoulder, palm up, to reinforce his point.

For a while, Saraf stood mesmerized by the scene of the two men, as if they were the only thing on earth that mattered anymore. He was startled when he saw the tall man in white looking in his direction. The other man also turned his head in his direction. He had been discovered. But perhaps he wanted to be. He had to know who these men were and what they were discussing. For a moment, the men stared in his direction. The tall man in white's hands still rested on the other's shoulders. Then he raised his right hand and beckoned him closer. With his gaze fixed on the men, Saraf approached. He left the path and walked through the shoulder-high grass. He couldn't take his eyes off the man in white. As he stood close, the man seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn't remember from what. The man placed his hand on Saraf's shoulder.

"Here's the young priest, who just embraced the cross."

Saraf was surprised. How could that man have seen that? Apparently, he had been observed without noticing. But he didn't dare ask. It seemed like it was meant to be, that the man knew. Somehow, the company of the two men felt familiar, even though he didn't know them.

"A young priest, Simon. And I wonder whose sorrow was greater, his or yours?"

Saraf looked at the other man, who was called Simon. Now that he looked down at him, he saw tears in the man's eyes. In fact, his face was wet with tears. The man was struggling with something and had just been comforted. But because of the comment made about him, a faint smile appeared on the man's face through his tears. He had a tanned face and a substantial black beard, which was starting to gray in places. Yet, he said nothing. It was clear that the conversation between the two men had had a profound effect on him and that he still needed to process it. The man in white had a hand on each of their shoulders, and Saraf suddenly felt a strong connection to these men, as if he had always belonged to them.

"A young priest who recognizes the signs of the times is rare in Jerusalem. He can mean a lot to his people."

Saph felt flattered and lowered his gaze.

"But first, he must fulfill his duty at the Chamber of the Flame tonight."

A shock went through Saraf. How did this man know of his nightly task in the temple? With questioning eyes, he looked up again into the man's face. He smiled and moved his hand to Saraf's head. A deep, inexplicable peace, the likes of which he had never felt before, came over him. Never before had he experienced such warm peace in his heart, and with that peace, tears welled up in his eyes. The two men's faces blurred.

"Keep looking for Me, Saraf. Then I will always be with you," he heard the man in white say.

When he had wiped the tears from his eyes, the man had disappeared from view, and Saraf and the other man stood alone in the garden.

 

(19)

The chiffchaff had mastered the rhythm and sang the highest song. The birdsong was the only sound in the garden. Simon and Saraf looked around in astonishment. They looked all around the garden, searching for Him who had just placed his warm hands on each of their shoulders but who had suddenly vanished. It took a while for them to process his absence and the accompanying emptiness.

“Who is He?” Saraf asked.

“Don’t you know? Jesus of Nazareth,” was Simon’s answer.

Saraf looked at the man in complete surprise. It was yet another shock he had felt that morning.

“But I stood by his cross this morning. He was crucified a few days ago. How is this possible?”

Simon said nothing but pointed to the rock wall behind him.

Saraf looked in the direction of the pointing gesture. There he saw the entrance to a rock tomb. He hadn’t noticed it all this time. A fig tree grew diagonally across the opening in the rock, which had blocked his view of the tomb as he approached. Saraf walked curiously toward the tomb and was about to enter when he realized he was about to defile himself as a priest. He stood in front of the opening, startled. What if he had gone inside? Then he wouldn't have been able to serve in the temple that evening. Saraf glanced around. He looked for the stone that always stood in front of or next to such a tomb. Resolutely, he turned and walked back to the man, whose name was Simon.

"Is that the tomb where they buried the Rabbi of Nazareth?" he asked as he approached.

Simon was still lost in his own thoughts, and it took a moment for the answer to come.

"Yes, that's where He's buried."

"But how is it possible that we just saw Him? And where did the stone that's supposed to be in front of the tomb go?"

Simon didn't answer but pointed to a spot about twenty cubits from the tomb. Saraf walked over and then, to his surprise, saw the enormous stone, almost taller than himself, lying flat in the grass.

"But who rolled that enormous stone all the way here? What happened here?" he exclaimed.

Saraf felt tempted to touch the stone and stand on it, but he feared that even the tombstone would defile him as a young priest. His eyes scanned the massive stone. Looking toward the grave, he saw the stone's trail through the grass, which had been completely crushed down to the rocky ground that appeared everywhere. Who had accomplished this? he wondered. As Saraf bent over the stone in amazement, Simon came to stand beside him.

"The Rabbi of Nazareth has risen from the dead," Simon said to Saraf in a tone far too flat for the overwhelming glory of the announcement.

"So He rolled that stone all the way here?" Saraf asked, finding the stone's movement almost as miraculous as the resurrection of a dead man.

"I don't know. I have no idea how that stone got there. Perhaps someday we'll find out." The most important thing is that He rose.

“Yes, you’re right,” Saraf replied, turning to Simon. “This morning I was still very sad when I saw that He had been crucified. And now it suddenly turns out that He is alive. I just wonder how that is possible.”

Tears welled up in Saraf’s eyes again. But they weren’t the same tears as that morning. They were the tears of intense joy he felt when he said the words “suddenly it turns out that He is alive” and thought back to the Man in White, whom he had just seen and whom he now knew was his.

“Early in the morning the stone was already there. So it must have happened last night or very early in the morning,” Simon continued, unable to properly interpret the boy’s tears.

“But who are you, anyway?” Saraf asked through his tears.

It took a moment for the answer to come, as if Simon was searching for the right words.

“I am one of His disciples.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Were you there when He raised a dead man in Bethany who had been buried for four days?”

Simon nodded, recalling the momentous event.

“Yes, and I wasn’t the only one. Almost the entire village was there when it happened.”

“But how is it possible then that He was crucified?”

Simon considered the answer for a moment, which he himself didn’t know yet. Then he said:

‘Perhaps you’d better ask the priests, who handed Him over to the governor.’

‘Did the priests really do that? I don’t think so. Why would they do such a terrible thing?’ Saraf responded, defending his own class.

‘I was also there when the officers of the Sanhedrin and the temple police, along with a Roman cohort, came to arrest Him.’

‘Where did that happen then?’ Saraf asked, still unable to believe it.

‘On the other side of the city, along the road over the Mount of Olives to Bethany.’

‘And you just let that happen?’

‘No, of course not. We tried everything to prevent it. But the odds were far too great.’

‘What did you do then?’ Saraf asked, now wanting to know exactly how it had happened.

“We even used a sword to defend Him. But He Himself didn’t want us to continue and commanded us to put up no more resistance.”

“And then, of course, you obeyed obediently,” Saraf said with an ironic undertone.

“You don’t know what it’s like when He gives His orders. No one can contradict them. Even we, His headstrong disciples, couldn’t do it at that moment, no matter how much we would have gladly fought ourselves to the death for Him.”

“But why didn’t He defend Himself then?”

“It was the Scriptures of the prophets that had to be fulfilled. He said that when He allowed Himself to be captured.”

“So, according to Him, the prophets spoke about Him and about His capture?”

Simon nodded.

“And His crucifixion?”

Simon looked in the direction of Golgotha and said simply, “He is the Lamb of God.”

“What?”

“That’s what John the Baptist said about Him, that He is the Lamb of God.”

“You mean, the John the Baptist who was beheaded by Herod?”

“Yes, He was the forerunner of the Messiah, the Rabbi of Nazareth. We have always believed that Jesus of Nazareth is Messiah ben David.”

“Yes, I believe that too,” Saraf hastened to say. “I told my family just this morning, that there is no other Messiah.”

Suddenly, a smile broke across Simon’s stern face. Here, a young priest’s son, was actually testifying that their Jesus of Nazareth is the Messiah, to his own family, no less. Suddenly he felt the hand of the Master, leading him from his own path to the eternal path.

“That’s wonderful, Saraf, that you did that.” That means a lot to me.’

The disciple struggled to swallow a rising lump in his throat and keep from bursting into tears again. But he controlled himself and looked the young priest straight in the eye.

‘And I almost forgot, but I had to ask you something.’

‘Did you have to ask me something? Of whom?’

‘Of Messiah, the Rabbi of Nazareth.’

Saraf smiled. ‘What? When did He say that?’

‘He said it just before you came around the corner of that cypress hedge over there.’

‘But did He know I was coming?’

‘Messiah knows everything, Saraf. I've noticed that many times in the years I've been His disciple.'

'But what did He have to ask me?'

'Whether you won't be shocked by what will happen tomorrow in the temple.'

 

(20)

At the foot of the stairs to the impressive Sadducee palace stood Vitellius and Malchus. The street, so quiet that morning, was now teeming with people. The singing resounded loudly from dozens of throats: "Hallelujah, praise God in His sanctuary. Praise Him in His mighty firmament." Every now and then, the flutes accompanying the singing sounded so loud and shrill that Vitellius felt compelled to cover his ears. They wanted to discuss the best route to Golgotha, but it was almost impossible to be heard above the singing and the flutes. To Vitellius' relief, Malchus suggested avoiding the Cheesemakers' Valley, which passed by the temple. Then they wouldn't have passed Fort Antonia, and he wouldn't have run into legionaries and superiors who could ask awkward questions. But going through the city the other way wasn't an option for Vitellius either, because the governor was with a cohort of soldiers in the praetorium, which was housed in Herod's palace. With considerable commotion, they finally agreed to take a route outside the city, along the western city wall. That way, they would avoid the main crowds and would likely reach Golgotha and the tomb, which lay somewhere nearby, the quickest.

With some difficulty, Vitellius and Malchus walked against the flow of pilgrims, towards the Essene Gate, which was located in the southwest of the city. Once they had, with great difficulty, reached the outside of the city walls, things weren't much better there. Pilgrims streamed towards the city from all directions. Vitellius couldn't remember ever seeing so many people on the move. The roads were this far too narrow for days like these. And the gates formed a huge bottleneck because of the tax collectors, who collected tolls on behalf of Rome for the use of the infrastructure.

With their backs to the packed gate, they stood at a fork in the road. From the gate, a path on their right led west, along the wall. The main road ran south, towards Bethlehem. They chose the path that wound along the wall. There were noticeably fewer pilgrims walking. On their left stretched long orchards of the Essenes. The Essenes were a very strict priestly sect with its own worship, separate from the temple. Besides small orchards, this sect also had several bathhouses outside the city walls, which adhered to their strict laws. Occasionally, they would visit a bathhouse among the olive trees. Directly beyond the orchards yawned the depths of the Valley of Hinnom.

After passing a corner tower, they faced another choice. Should they keep to the path along the wall heading north, or should they detour, passing under the fifty-cubit-high aqueduct, along the wide main road to Gaza? Vitellius weighed his chances of encountering Roman soldiers. They bothered him more at the moment than the celestial being, who, in his mind, was still sitting on the tombstone. The path along the wall ran directly behind the praetorium, the governor's seat. He preferred the wide and much busier road. He scanned the road to Gaza to see if he could spot any Roman army uniforms among the throngs of pilgrims. He couldn't find any, and if they did encounter any soldiers, he might be able to hide among the pilgrims.

"I suggest we take the road under the aqueduct. It's much wider and much easier to walk than the path along the wall," Vitellius suggested.

"The path along the wall is shorter," Malchus countered.

Vitellius looked at Malchus with an annoyed look. He didn't want to admit that he wanted to avoid his own legionnaires.

"But perhaps you're right. It's much easier to walk. And besides, we can hide more easily from any Romans," Malchus remarked with a laugh.

Vitellius said nothing. It seemed the slave had caught on, and that angered him. The whole incident at that tomb had left him at the mercy of the Jewish priests and their servants. For a while, they walked silently side by side among the pilgrims. The pilgrim psalms and the imposing Serpent Pond they passed were a stark contrast to Vitellius's mood. As if he were an errand boy, he was sent out with a servant to verify his own report of the night's events. Vitellius didn't know what to hope for. On the one hand, he shuddered at the thought that that lightning-like tyrant was still there. On the other hand, his story would be nothing if he were gone.

When they had passed under the aqueduct for the second time, leaving the Serpent Pond behind them, Vitellius saw a group of Roman legionaries approaching in the distance. His heart suddenly pounded in his throat. He was deeply suspicious that he was the only soldier in full uniform walking alongside a Jewish slave. This raised questions, to say the least. His eyes darted left and right, searching for a way out. A little further on, he saw a side path on the left side of the road between the conifers that marked the way. Without saying anything to Malchus, he suddenly turned left onto the side path.

"Vitellius, we can't go there. It's a dead end!" he heard Malchus shout behind him.

Vitellius gambled that Malchus would follow him. After all, he was dependent on him for the inspection of the tomb. And indeed, a moment later he heard the sound of trotting feet behind him.

"This path leads to Herod's tomb." "We can't just go there," Malchus gasped.

"Shh. I saw a contubernium in the distance."

"A what?"

"A contubernium, that's a group of eight soldiers."

"Aha. I see," Malchus laughed. "Should we just wait here until they pass?"

"I hope they don't come here."

"I don't think so. This path is a dead end. Unless they've come here to guard the tomb."

"Is the tomb being guarded then?"

"Yes. And especially during the festivities. There's a greater risk of grave robbing or desecration then."

Vitellius didn't answer, but suddenly his nerves were high again. The path had been gently sloping upwards all this time, and now they were almost at the top of a low hill. A little higher up, they could see a stone wall on the other side of the hill. To Vitellius' great dismay, a number of Roman guards were stationed in front of it. Vitellius immediately turned around and walked back along the path, his heart pounding. But they were already arriving. They were two groups of eight, a full guard guarding a tomb.

 

(21)

Lost in thought, Annas walked across the limestone floor through the great hall of his palace. His Roman guests were in the corner room on the first floor, and he desperately needed to speak with them. He completely ignored the beautiful decorative panels he had recently had installed around the walls of the hall, as several pressing questions raced through his mind. How could he best manipulate and utilize the soldiers? Was it necessary to meet with the full Sanhedrin about the matter? And if not, which members of the Sanhedrin should he confide in? What information could he share with the members of the Sanhedrin? What information could he share with his slaves and household? How would they approach the governor? Had the public already gotten wind of it? The only question Annas didn't ask himself was whether what the soldiers had told him was true. The soldiers' story didn't fit into his worldview. Angels and a resurrection had no place in Annas's worldview. The Sadducees had long ago decided that only the Torah of Moses was true and that the innovations of the prophets who had come afterward were baseless fabrications. It was all about serving the Almighty in the here and now. They had their hands full with that. An afterlife in heaven or on earth had never been the intention of the great Lawgiver.

As he ascended the stairs to the first floor, a remark from the Rabbi of Nazareth, which had reached him through some Sadducee scribes, suddenly flashed through his mind. God had revealed himself to Moses as the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. And then the Rabbi ended the discussion with a single remark: "God is not a God of the dead, but of the living." Annas shook his head to quickly dismiss this thought and concentrated on the conversation with the soldiers.

After a brief knock on the door, a roar of warning came from two or three voices inside, signaling him to enter. Annas swung the door wide open. Three of the soldiers were sitting on chairs. The fourth stood by the window, which looked out toward the Mount of Olives. Suddenly, the image of his nightmare from the previous night returned to him with full force. Annas felt himself growing weak, and as he turned his back on the soldiers and closed the door, he had to hold on tightly to the knob to keep from sinking to his knees. For a moment, he leaned heavily against the door, his back to the soldiers. Then he recovered and turned around. He felt sweat forming on his forehead but didn't wipe it away, so as not to draw attention to it. The soldier by the window had turned, and eight eyes stared at him questioningly.

"Well, gentlemen. Have you been able to make yourselves comfortable here?"

"Where is Vitellius?" Claudius asked, without answering the platitude. “We expected to encounter him here in the palace.”

Annas raised his hand in admonition and said, “Don’t worry about him. Vitellius is inspecting the tomb with a full stomach, along with one of my slaves.”

The soldiers exchanged surprised glances. Then Claudius responded, “He told us he would never return to that cursed tomb.”

“He could also go back to the governor,” Annas replied, challenging them one by one. He saw the fear in their eyes. These were completely different soldiers from the ones in his dreams. These were in his power, not the other way around.

“We could eat something too. We’re starving,” Gaius said, changing the subject.

“That will be taken care of,” Annas reassured them. “Maria will be here shortly with a hearty breakfast.”

“But what is there to inspect at the tomb?” Claudius demanded. “Don’t you believe our reports?”

“Do you believe them yourself?” Annas shot back.

The soldiers were silent. They understood that their stories were met with considerable resistance from the Jewish authorities.

“The question is, did something happen to the tomb or to you?”

“You don’t think we made up the whole story, do you? All sixteen of us saw that luminous figure from heaven cause the earthquake and roll away the stone.”

“Perhaps you only think you saw that.”

“Do you think all sixteen of us imagined exactly the same thing? And that earthquake? It was felt throughout Jerusalem.”

“An earthquake is not an angel,” said Annas. “But if you want to maintain your own story, you’re free to tell your centurion that you were fleeing from an angel.”

The soldiers were silent. With the penalty of death in the fortress for their dereliction of duty, the priest had them trapped.

"Maria, who will be bringing the food soon, is very curious and will ask all sorts of questions. If I hear that you told her about an angel, you can report that to the centurion too.'

 

(22)

'Didn't He really say what would happen at the temple?'

Saraf was still talking with Simon, trying to figure out what terrifying event was about to take place at the temple.

'No, really not. Nothing. Just that you shouldn't be afraid of what would happen.'

'But how can He know what will happen?'

'He is the Messiah. He is the Son of the living God. He knows everything.'

'Have you often noticed that, that He knew things beforehand?'

'Oh yes, more than I can tell you.'

'About what then?'

'About His own death and resurrection. He foretold that several times, even more than a year ago.'

'What exactly did He say then?'

Simon's eyes went up thoughtfully, and as he stared at the sky, his Master's shocking words came back to him. Then he looked Saraf straight in the eye and, with a moving voice, quoted his Master's words:

"Look, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and scribes, and they will condemn Him to death. They will hand Him over to the Gentiles to mock, to scourge, and to crucify Him; and on the third day He will be raised."

"Did He say that a year ago?"

"No, He said this about ten days ago, on our last pilgrimage to Jerusalem, just before the Passover."

"But who handed Him over to the chief priests and scribes?"

Simon sighed. The events were still too recent to talk about easily. However, the conversation he had just had with the Master gave him strength to convey it to Saraf.

“It was one of us, one of his own disciples.”

Saraf heard the emotion in Simon’s voice and looked at the disciple silently.

“Did He know who would betray Him?”

Simon said nothing and nodded. Saraf saw that Simon was touched and returned to his own situation.

“So He didn’t say exactly what would happen in the temple. But was He usually always detailed in His predictions?”

“Usually.”

“Like…?”

Saraf tried to seize the opportunity and find out as much as possible about the Messiah, Jesus. The young priest looked Simon straight in the eye with wide, questioning eyes. The boy’s curiosity about the Master helped Simon process the events, and a smile briefly crossed his face. Two moments immediately came to mind.

“Did you hear anything about the entry a week ago?”

“You mean, when He rode into the city on a donkey’s colt amidst loud cheers?” Yes, I was there.

“Well, when we were still on our way from Bethany to the village closer by—what was it called again?”

“Bethphage?”

“Right, Bethphage. Then He told two of us to go ahead to that village and that there they would find a donkey tied with a colt, that they were to untie it and bring it to Him. And that if anyone asked them what they were doing, they were to say that the Lord needed them and that they would immediately receive the animals. That’s exactly what happened.”

Simon waited a moment to gauge Saraf’s reaction. But Saraf kept staring at him, wide-eyed, eager to hear more.

“Three days ago, He sent me and another disciple into the city to prepare the Passover. We were to meet a man with a water jar, and we were to follow him until he entered a house. There we had to ask the master of the house about the dining room, where we would be having the Passover. Everything was correct, from beginning to end.

Simon looked back at Saraf. Saraf remained silent and continued to look at him with questioning eyes.

"Yes, that's all I know right now," Simon defended himself.

"There's probably much more," Saraf challenged him.

Simon sighed, shaking his head, and dug through his memory. Then a smile broke through.

"Oh yes," he paused, then began a new story.

"About a year ago, the temple tax officials came to ask me if the Master paid the temple tax. I said he did, or at least—or so I thought. When I got home, it turned out that Jesus knew they had asked me this. He asked me from whom the kings of the earth collected taxes, their sons or strangers. When I said 'from strangers,' He said that the sons were exempt." By that, He meant that as Son of the temple, He didn't owe any temple tax.

"Wait a minute," Safaf interrupted him. "How is the Messiah Jesus Son of the temple? He's not a priest, is He? He's the Son of David, isn't He? Of the lineage of Judah, not of Levi? How then is He Son of the temple?"

Simon looked at the boy in surprise. The little priest had questions he couldn't answer at the moment. He searched for an answer in what else he remembered about Jesus and the temple.

"Did you hear what Jesus did in the temple a week ago?"

‘You mean He sent all the money changers and merchants away from the temple court?’

‘Yes, that. But do you know that He also did this three years earlier and what He said then?’

‘No, I haven’t heard of that.’

‘He said, “Don’t make my Father’s house a house of merchandise.”’

Simon waited for Saraf’s response.

‘Don’t you get it? He calls the temple His Father’s house. Would He then have to pay the temple tax?’

‘Oh, I get it. But what was it that He knew and foretold beforehand?’

‘My story wasn’t over yet. The officials demanded tax from the Master. But the sons were tax-free, yes? Yet He commanded me to pay the tax. We were not to cause offense. He sent me to the lake to catch a fish, and in the mouth of the first fish I caught, I would find a coin equal to the temple tax for Him and myself. And that's exactly what happened.

Saraf's eyes widened, if that were possible. "So He arranged for a coin worth twice the temple tax to fall into the water, for a fish to take that coin in its mouth, and for you to catch that fish. How is that possible?"

Simon gestured with his hands, indicating he didn't know either. Saraf thought deeply and then asked another question.

"But these are all detailed predictions, saying exactly what would happen. But in my case, I have absolutely no idea what to expect. Has He ever made such a prediction before?"

Simon paused for a moment. There was silence. Saraf continued to look at him curiously. But Simon shook his head.

"I don't know if I want to tell this," he began hesitantly. He sighed deeply.

Saraf continued to look at Simon curiously.

“Well, okay. This happened two days ago.” Simon took a deep breath. “No, it’s too bad. I can’t talk about this yet.”

With a pained expression, Simon stared into Saraf’s questioning eyes. He shook his head again. However, Saraf’s patience in waiting for his story gave him courage.

“He’s said several times what would happen.”

“What would happen then?” Saraf asked invitingly.

“Or rather, it was more something I would do.”

“What would you do then?”

It was quiet again for a while. Simon glanced evasively to the left and right, as if hoping the conversation would be interrupted by others approaching the tomb. But there was no one in sight, and Saraf continued to listen curiously.

“I would deny Him.”

This time, Simon didn’t dare look at the little priest. He was ashamed. This time, Saraf didn't know how to respond. There was a moment of silence. Then Saraf returned to his own situation.

"But He hadn't given any details about how it happened, just like in my case with the temple."

Simon looked into Saraf's face and said, "Oh yes, that's what we talked about. Indeed. How and under what circumstances it would happen, he didn't say. Only that the rooster wouldn't crow until it happened."

"And how did it happen then?"

"Do you want to know?"

Saraf nodded his head.

"After His capture in the Garden of Gethsemane, I followed Him to see the outcome. In the high priest's courtyard, one after another asked if I belonged to Him, and I flatly denied it several times."

Saph saw that Simon was struggling and said nothing. They were both silent for a while. Simon was the first to speak again.

“But it’s time for me to inform the others, and you must prepare for your nocturnal adventure.”

Saraf nodded and followed Simon to the garden exit. It turned out to be a different exit than the one he had entered. After a short time, they reached the main road to the city, where they joined the pilgrims passing by.

 

(23)

The sixteen soldiers, who had come for the changing of the guard at Herod’s tomb, marched two by two along the path between the conifer hedges. Their helmets and spears glinted in the sunlight that played over the soldiers between the tops of the conifers. The moment Vitellius felt surrounded by legionaries, he acted reflexively. He dove forward, straight through the conifer hedge at the side of the path. Within two seconds, he was out of sight, and Malchus stood alone. One glance at the marching group of soldiers was enough for Malchus to see that he had already been spotted. There was no point in diving after Vitellius, and besides, he was wary of returning to the palace covered in scratches, smudges, and possibly torn clothes. Running away in any direction would have been suspicious. He thought it best to remain standing and confront the soldiers. He had already seen that the conifer hedge consisted of multiple trunks, which would make it impossible for Vitellius to be spotted from the path.

On the other side of the conifer hedge, Vitellius, crouched, anxiously awaited the further course of events. He heard the two contubernia approaching with a stampede and then halting.

"Ave. Legionary Aelius, on his way to the changing of the guard. Who are you and what are you doing here?" The legionary's voice pierced Vitellius to the core.

There was a moment of silence. Vitellius held his breath to hear what Malchus would say. His life depended on it. He feared Malchus would betray him and point him out through the hedge. He briefly considered running. But he immediately reconsidered, because they would undoubtedly hear, and then the misery would be unimaginable.

“I am Malchus, slave of the high priest, and I have come to the tomb in connection with the traditional tribute the priests pay to the royal family on Bikkurim.”

Vitellius relaxed. The answer meant Malchus was trying to talk his way out of it with an excuse. He wasn’t betraying him. But at the legionnaire’s next question, all his muscles tensed again.

“But didn’t we see you with a legionnaire just now?”

“Oh, yes,” Vitellius heard Malchus say with a chuckle, “he really had to go and has retreated for a moment.”

Vitellius heard the soldiers snicker. Then they said, “Why don’t you come with us for the traditional tribute?”

He heard no response from Malchus, but then heard the ground rumble beneath the marching soldiers. Then the silence returned, broken only by a blackbird, which from somewhere among the conifers produced a varied repertoire of songs. When the relieved guard returned from the tomb a little later, the bird flew away, chattering loudly. Vitellius heard the sixteen men thumping and stamping as they passed the path on the other side of the hedge, on their way to the fortress. Vitellius thought how much he would have liked to trade places with these soldiers to be part of the guard at this tomb. This King of the Jews was much easier to guard than the King of the Jews they had been stationed near the previous night. Here, at night, no luminous celestial being descended, causing earthquakes and throwing stones around like cart wheels.

For a while, Vitellius sat among the conifers, wondering what he should do. He could just walk away without being noticed. Once again, he considered his options. But he considered a flight to Syria just as unsuccessful as a return to the fortress. He saw the best chance of success in an amnesty from the Jewish priests for what could undoubtedly be called the most serious form of dereliction of duty. Vitellius was increasingly realizing that the Jewish authorities had some interest in the guard who had fled from the tomb. One remark from the old priest had stuck in his memory. They had to verify the story. And of course, they could certainly use them for that. As he sat thus lost in thought behind the conifer hedge, he suddenly heard Malchus' voice again from the other side of the hedge.

"Shall we continue our journey to the tomb of the Jewish Rabbi?"

Before answering, Vitellius first looked, face to the ground, between the trunks of the conifers toward the path. He wanted to be sure that Malchus was alone and that he wouldn't somehow fall into a trap. He had to search for a while before he spotted Malchus' sandals on the path. From his low position, he scanned the path as far as he could in both directions, but he couldn't spot the sandals of Roman legionaries anywhere. Yet, he didn't expose himself completely, as was evident in his answer to Malchus.

"Fine. But should we walk back to the main road on either side of the hedge? I don't fancy wading through those conifers again."

"That sounds like a good idea. We'll see each other in a moment."

Vitellius struggled through tall grass and had to make detours here and there because of a large bush blocking the way. When he reached the main road, Malchus was waiting for him, laughing.

"Well, we got away with it, didn't we?" he concluded.

Vitellius didn't answer but immediately countered: "How did you manage to fool the guard?"

"Ha, ha. Yes, that's quite a story." Did you hear what I said to them?'

'That you were going to pay tribute to Herod on behalf of the priests?'

'Yes, and that you had to.'

Now that the tension had subsided, Vitellius burst out laughing. 'Yes, that was a nice idea. And that they fell for it. Wonderful!'

'Well, after that, of course, I had to keep up my act. So when I arrived at Herod's tomb, I noticed that they were keeping a close eye on me. So I made a kind of ‘offering’ and placed it on one of the stones above the entrance to the tomb.

‘What did you have with you then, that you could offer as a ‘offering’?’

‘Our lunch this afternoon,’ said Malchus, and he couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

Vitellius burst out laughing again, thinking that their lunch was now displayed on Herod’s tomb as a tribute from the Jewish priests. Humor transcended cultural boundaries at that moment. The Roman legionary and the Jewish slave infected each other with their laughter. In their imaginations, they saw the serious Roman guard, with grapes, olives, matzos, and cheese laid out behind them on a tombstone, baking in the scorching sun, as a solemn offering from the priestly class to the dead king. Surprised, the peasant pilgrims stopped their singing when they saw the two walking down the road, hiccuping and with tears in their eyes from laughter.

 

(24)

Annas stood in a position the palace residents had never before seen. The old priest, half bent over, stood with his ear to the door of the room where the Roman guests were staying. Mary had just entered with a delicious Jewish breakfast. There was a good chance a conversation was about to take place between her and the legionaries. From this exchange of thoughts, he might be able to glean information that could be decisive for their future and that of the people.

Annas strained his aged ears to hear what was being said. He would have preferred to leave it to Malchus, but he was on his way with the other Roman soldier. And almost all the priests were occupied with the formalities of Bikkurim. Fortunately, Mary was a servant who was not shy about speaking her mind. She could thoroughly question many a man. She was certainly a match for four Roman legionaries, who feared judgment for their behavior. The major problem Annas faced was that Maria's higher-pitched female voice was difficult for his old ears to hear through the massive door. Perhaps Malchus's hearing had been able to hear everything. With Malchus's hearing, the question of the nighttime arrest immediately flashed through his mind. He desperately needed to sound Jonathan out on it. While he was thus lost in thought, he suddenly heard a clear male voice.

"The changeover always takes place in the morning. So that's not so strange!"

Annas could hear Maria's voice but had no idea what she was saying. Apparently, the men didn't like it, because one of them called out indignantly:

"We're not here to discuss our watch with a maid. Could we perhaps have breakfast in peace?"

Annas heard a woman's voice again, this time a little louder. But he still couldn't understand a word she said. Then he heard two men's voices, in measured tones. As if they were reprimanding the one who had spoken so harshly. Then that growling voice spoke again.

"But what business does it have of her whether we've already finished our shift? What business is it of hers?"

The woman's voice sounded again, soft but penetrating. Immediately afterward, the voice of the disgruntled Roman resounded.

"Are you our centurion, keeping track of exactly when our watch begins?"

While Annas tried to understand Maria, he sat gloating behind the door. She had apparently memorized the time the guard was posted at the tomb. "Yes, leave such practical matters to the women!" he chuckled inwardly. He heard the Roman's reaction loud and clear again.

“Where do you get the idea that a Roman guard is always changed after 24 hours?”

Annas understood that the soldiers were trying to talk their way out of it by changing the guard. But he knew that excuse would only work if it was all imagined and nothing else had happened. If Malchus came home with a much bigger story, it would be of no use to anyone. Again, the aggrieved soldier's voice rang out:

“So what? We'll be here at the palace a few hours before our change—what's that to you?”

“Wonderful!” Annas thought aloud. For he heard the guard admit that they had left the tomb well before the change. Now Mary wouldn't let go. He heard her soft but venomous voice cornering the soldiers. Then came another roar.

“Yes, Madam Governor! Of course, Madam Governor! We'll remember it, Madam Governor!”

Annas nearly burst out laughing at the soldier's rant. Maria was stoking the fires quite a bit, as she was already speaking again. Then the same soldier's voice resounded, now brimming with anger.

"You don't know anything about that. Maybe some really strange things happened at that grave. Or maybe you didn't feel the earthquake this morning?"

Annas clenched his fists. The conversation was completely going in the intended direction. The soldiers were revealing themselves more and more. The tone of Maria's voice indicated she was cornering them again. The grumpy soldier was about to lash out again but was interrupted by one of the others. Annas couldn't quite hear him and could only make out a few words.

"...don't know anything at all...twelve...sleep..."

Then he heard Maria snap back with another question of conscience. That was too much for the angry soldier, and he began to scream wildly.

"What's that to you? We were all four asleep! How could we know what happened? We're dividing the night into four watches, little lady. Now get out of here! We want peace!"

Those last words sounded so menacing that Annas thought for a moment Maria would throw open the door and discover him there. So he walked away from the door for a moment, heading towards the stairs to the forecourt. However, the door remained closed, and Annas carefully took his place again. He strained again to hear what was being said. One of the soldiers, a different one from the one who was bellowing, spoke.

"... cursed... witchcraft... not trained for this..."

Immediately after that, the bellowing voice started again.

"And if you don't believe us, then go and see the tomb yourself. And now get out of here!"

As a precaution, Annas backed away from the door, but it remained closed. He walked back and immediately put his ear to the door again. That wasn't necessary, because the bellowing resumed.

"Why are you talking to us here? We have nothing more to say! We were asleep! When we woke up, it was all over. Just ask Vitellius!"

One of the others spoke, and Annas had to strain again to hear anything. While he was bent over, Esther came walking over. She found Maria and gently tapped Annas on the back. Disturbed, he turned around and then, with his finger to his lips, gestured for her to be quiet. He beckoned her closer and invited her to listen. It was a good thing. Her hearing was much better, and she heard Mary walking toward the door. With a quick signal to Annas, she turned. He responded immediately. The door opened, and Mary appeared in the hallway. When her gaze shifted toward the stairs, she saw Annas and Esther just walking down.