Chapter 6

(61)

"I'm not leaving those two children here alone with an untrustworthy soldier. That's it."

Vitellius was embroiled in a discussion with Malchus about his choice of soldier to look after the girls. Everyone else would be joining Malchus in hunting the boy. Malchus had chosen Gaius. His answer to Vitellius made clear why.

"You brought this on yourself, Vitellius. He barely caught his breath, let alone could walk."

"You saw what he did yourself. It's not trustworthy."

"As if you're trustworthy," Gaius interjected.

"Do you have any proof to the contrary?" Vitellius responded.

"Ha, look at our situation. The four of us were on our way to Syria without a care in the world. Because of you, things have changed. That kid over there might already be about to betray us." Without you, that wouldn't have happened.'

'That has nothing to do with trustworthiness. Could I possibly have imagined we'd encounter priest children, let alone that we'd have to seize them?'

'You couldn't even handle that kid,' Gaius whined further. 'Should we then entrust those two Jewesses to you?'

'The command came completely unexpectedly. You can't compare that to keeping watch over two children.'

'I think you're no more capable of that than keeping watch over a dead Jew.'

He shouldn't have uttered that insult. Vitellius rushed at him. Fearing being tackled by his comrade again, Gaius jumped up and fled from him, limping.

'He can't walk?' Vitellius sneered. 'Look at him. I can barely keep up with him.'

'Hmm,' Malchus replied. 'There's certainly more movement in him than he let on.'

'Well?' “Who will stay with the two children now?” Vitellius asked.

“Yes, if that’s how things stand, I suggest you look after them and the other four join me in trying to track down the boy.”

Vitellius immediately took the two girls by the hand and said, “Fine. I’ll look after these two. You two go quickly after that boy before he reports back.”

A short time later, Vitellius stood alone with Maria and Matilda on the Vineyard Path. But looking after the two children proved more difficult than he had anticipated. Shortly after his companions with Malchus had disappeared into the vines, the eldest girl asked him,

“Can’t we sit down? We’ve been walking all afternoon and we’re tired.”

“Then we must all three sit down at once, because I won’t let you go,” Vitellius replied.

“Why not? We certainly won’t run away,” the girl replied.

“Why not? We certainly won’t run away,” the girl replied.

"Fine, we'll stay put," was Vitellius' response.

After a moment, the girl said, "Okay, you can keep holding us. Then we'll sit down together."

Vitellius moved to sit down on the sidelines. The heat had dampened the hands of Vitellius and the children. As he tried to sit down, the girl managed to break free and run away. But Vitellius was a trained soldier and didn't let anyone escape for the third time that day. He picked up the other child as if she weighed nothing, placed her over his shoulder, and ran after the older girl. She ran through a field of vines, but unlike Saraf, she simply ran straight ahead between two rows of vines. Against the much larger and more experienced Vitellius, she stood no chance, and in no time, Vitellius grabbed her by the sleeve of her dress.

"You mustn't try that again," Vitellius gasped, as he set Matilda down and grabbed both of them firmly by their clothes.

"Because what else will happen?" the girl asked.

Vitellius couldn't answer that right away. He simply decided not to let her run off again.

"I thought you were so tired," Vitellius replied. "But you're not, when I see you running like that."

Vitellius saw a small smile cross the girl's face for a moment. Her dark eyes sparkled. It prompted him to come over to meet the children.

"Shall we walk back to the path? Then maybe we can try again to see if we can all sit down without anyone running away," he suggested. The girls nodded meekly. A moment later, they reached the path. While Vitellius continued to hold the girls firmly by their clothes, all three of them simultaneously sank to their knees at the side of the Vine Path.

 

(62)

Saraf was startled. A few rows of vines ahead of him, he unexpectedly saw a Roman soldier creeping. Shortly after, he saw the man in the blue tunic scanning the area a little higher up. They had caught up with him. Saraf realized he was slower because he had to walk constantly crouched or bent over and, moreover, carefully crawl through the vines. Saraf peered back. Above the vines, a few rows lower in the field, he saw the helmet of another soldier. He was surrounded. And immediately he realized that climbing one of the fig trees wasn't a good idea. Before he was even properly up in the tree, they'd already spotted him, and they could wait for him or get him down.

It was as if the soldiers expected him to head towards the fig trees. From his hiding place between two vines, Saraf took another good look around. The ridge where the vineyard was situated sloped gently down towards the Garden Gate of Jerusalem, near Herod's palace. In the distance, he saw the three towers Herod had built to fortify the city. They rose like gigantic sentinels on the wall. He saw that it was still incredibly crowded at the Garden Gate. It was the crowd they had avoided by choosing the Vine Path. At that moment, Saraf wished they had just let the throngs of pilgrims carry them along. Then they would have arrived almost safely at the tomb.

But this was no time for remorse. He had to figure out what the soldiers were planning. They had, of course, seen him walking uphill parallel to the Vineyard Path. This might have given the soldiers the suspicion that he had a specific destination north of the city. He recalled again the title he had seen under the armpit of one of the soldiers. It revealed their particular interest in Golgotha and perhaps even in the Rabbi's tomb. If that were the case, Saraf wondered, where did this sudden Roman interest in a Jewish Rabbi come from? He figured it could all stem from the mysterious man in his blue robe. Saraf considered that they somehow knew he was heading for the Rabbi's tomb. He therefore decided it would be best to descend back toward the city as quickly as possible, in the opposite direction. That would give him a better chance of escape. Fueled by that thought, he crept along one of the many rows of vines, keeping the towers of the city wall in his sights.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps just behind him, on the other side of the row of vines he was walking past. Saraf crouched down and sat as close to the bushes as possible. The rustling of footsteps grew closer. Saraf felt as if he could be grabbed at any moment from above or between the bushes. With his hands over his head, he shrank back as close as possible. There, he already felt someone pressing against his arm. Saraf looked between his elbows. It wasn't a soldier. It was a goat. Saraf sighed with relief.

The goat had probably escaped from a cage and was foraging among the vines, searching for treats. It had probably already feasted on grape leaves. The goat gave Saraf an idea. He quickly untied the rope around his waist. He removed his outer garment and threw it over the goat. He then placed the rope across the goat's back, passing it just behind its front legs and under its chest. He tied the rope securely at the top of its back. He gave the goat a sharp swat on its rump, causing it to start moving. From the grapevines, Saraf watched the animal slowly but surely walk between two rows of vines. It seemed as if it were crouching down.

It took a moment for the soldiers to spot the animal. Saraf didn't have to wonder if they were, because a shout sounded from one of the soldiers to the others. Shortly after, they all ran toward the goat. One of the soldiers came from the direction he had chosen and passed him on the other side of his row of vines. That was the soldier who was supposed to prevent it from escaping into the city. Despite the tense situation, Saraf couldn't help but laugh, knowing that his plan seemed to be working. Still wearing only his robe and clutching the Torah scroll in his bag, he quickly crept further down toward the gate.

 

(63)

Deeply shaken, Annas stood in the doorway of the council chamber in the women's forecourt. He had expected to meet two or three pilgrims, but instead the council chamber was overflowing with pilgrims, all eager to share their stories. All twenty-three seats of the Lower Sanhedrin were occupied by them. But most of the pilgrims were waiting in their faded and sometimes dirty peasant clothes. The next moment, Annas regained his presence of mind and shouted loudly:

"Get out! You have no business in the Sanhedrin's council chamber!"

The peasants reacted with surprise. An older farmer, who stood at the front, said:

"But we didn't know it was the council chamber." Pointing to Matthias, who was standing behind Annas, he added accusingly: "He brought us here!"

Annas immediately had his retort ready:

"Isn't it rightly written: 'This people perish for lack of knowledge?'"

It was one of his favorite texts, which Annas used at every opportunity. The farmers sensed something was amiss with the application of the text, but they obeyed nonetheless and filed out through the door. When they were all in the women's courtyard, Annas closed the door. Then he turned to Matthias and said:

"I assume you still have the key somewhere?"

With a panicked look, Matthias felt in the bag on his belt. To his great relief, the old farmer's voice immediately sounded behind him:

"He gave it to me for so long. Here it is."

Annas glared at Matthias and then held up his hand to the farmer, saying:

"Luckily, there are still honest farmers." And he gave the farmer a look that seemed to mean the opposite. Then he commanded:

"Matthias, you lock the door." Then I'll question these pilgrims.'

As Matthias walked back to the door, Annas began questioning the peasants. Most of them had taken their seats on the stone benches placed in the colonnades surrounding the forecourt. Annas stood directly opposite them, fists on hips, and asked:

"What stories are these, with which you turn the courts of the Lord into a profane dance floor?"

The manner in which the question was asked didn't invite an answer, and so there was silence. Annas continued, saying:

"Your dancing and clapping truly remind me of the people who reveled around the golden calf: The people rose to their feet to celebrate wildly."

An older peasant had been sitting for some time with his hand trembling in the air.

"What are you doing sitting there so pushily with your hand in the air?" Annas asked.

The farmer replied:

“May I remind you that David also danced before the Lord?”

“Exactly. And on what occasion did he dance, now?”

“On the occasion of the bringing of the ark.”

“And where is the ark now, if I may ask?”

There was silence. Annas answered himself.

“Ichabod!”

Annas shouldn’t have said that, because as soon as he said it, his nightmare came rushing back to him. He began to shake violently and sweat, and felt terribly hot. He could barely stand and was breathing heavily. Matthias, along with the other farmers, looked at his father in alarm and asked:

“Father, are you feeling all right? Would you please sit down for a moment?”

Some farmers made room for Annas on the stone benches where they had been sitting. Annas immediately went over and sat down. This stopped the attack. But Annas was still far from feeling well. When he had enough breath to speak, he managed to say between a few sighs:

“I hereby dismiss the meeting. I must first freshen up. Let one of the farmers stay here if they wish to tell me their story.”

 

(64)

It was a beautiful afternoon. The warmth of the sun compensated for the still cool spring air. The nature around the Vineyard Path was bursting at the seams with spring, and you could almost see the grapevines growing. Birds chirped incessantly in a rich variety, praising their Creator, and insects hummed to their heart’s content with their never-ending work. The absence of Malchus and the guard, and the quiet influence of the spring splendor, brought a renewed peace to Vitellius’ heart. This was the season that proved that life was stronger than death. For Vitellius, that proof was now supplemented by what he had seen that morning at the Rabbi’s tomb. The impressions he received there haunted him. In his mind's eye, he once again saw the light shining from the grave opening through the grave cloth. The image on the cloth, through which the light sparkled, radiated simultaneously peace, certainty, triumph, affection, compassion, strength, and unparalleled power. Vitellius felt his memory of the image stir his heart again, as if he were sitting beside the Rabbi's grave cloths in the burial chamber, staring at them. A sob welled up from his chest, and he immediately wiped away a tear.

"What's your name, anyway?" a girl's voice suddenly sounded beside him.

Vitellius felt caught. Although he still held their clothes in a steely grip, he had almost forgotten them, the two Jewish girls. He tried to keep his voice as steady as possible as he responded, but it was completely impossible.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked hoarsely.

"Aren't you the soldier who saved me?" the girl replied. "Then it seems logical to me that I know your name."

Vitellius looked to the right, where the older of the two sat. She had seen his emotion and smiled gently while two dark eyes, from beneath even darker eyebrows, held him in their gaze. Vitellius burst out laughing. There beside him sat the most beautiful, budding woman imaginable, and she had just been witness of his emotions, which he himself didn't understand. He could have given his name, too. But he didn't reveal it immediately, replying:

"Saved you? That was nothing. Gaius is just a weak, clumsy donkey."

"Clumsy, but not weak," the girl replied. "I was completely in his power, and no one reacted, except you."

Vitellius was silent for a moment, considering his own actions. From a young age, he had harbored a deep aversion to any form of abuse of power, to unequal struggle, and to corruption. That's why he hadn't felt any hesitation when he attacked Gaius. However, he didn't understand why the others didn't react. Even Malchus did nothing. It was one of his own people, in danger, no less, from his own commands.

"But what's your name?" the girl insisted.

"Oh, I'm Vitellius," he replied. “And you, what’s your name?”

“My name is Maria,” the girl said.

Vitellius looked at her laughing and said, “I should have known. Original name, you know.”

Maria didn’t respond but immediately asked a question, which Vitellius didn’t respond to:

“Who was the dead Rabbi you were supposed to be guarding?”

The smile froze on Vitellius’ face and he looked at her with wide eyes. His memory worked feverishly, searching for the moment she could have learned anything about their mission last night. Suddenly it struck him. Malchus! Vitellius suddenly remembered that the Jewish servant had accused them, in the presence of the two girls, of failing to guard the dead Rabbi and that the boy had now run off as well.

Vitellius wondered if the servant was doing that on purpose, to keep them increasingly cornered, so that they would become increasingly dependent on the priests. He considered whether such a tactic was compatible with the protection Malchus had constantly offered against the searching soldiers of the Legion. As the girl continued to stare at him with her dark, questioning eyes, he realized that it was indeed consistent. If he were captured by the Legion, he might be immediately tried and executed. Then he could no longer be of use to them. But what the Jews intended to use him for remained a mystery to Vitellius.

"Didn't you find that strange? That you had to guard a dead Rabbi?"

Maria continued to ask questions. Vitellius figured that ignoring them might arouse suspicion. And that last question was easier to answer than the first. Vitellius decided to confide in her to a certain extent and replied:

"Strange? We all thought it was completely senseless. But as a soldier, you don't question the meaning of a mission. You simply do what you're told."

"But you didn't." Because that man literally said you couldn't guard the Rabbi. I wonder how a Roman guard can't guard the grave of a dead Rabbi.'

Vitellius bit his lip. He noticed that the girl had been using her ears well. And he also noticed that she wasn't shy about speaking. Vitellius decided to be very careful in speaking with her. He suspected she could become a major problem if he wasn't careful. He decided to remain silent for a while, hoping she would stop asking questions. And for a while, that seemed to work. But then suddenly a question arose, one Vitellius hadn't expected at all.

 

(65)

Behind him, Saraf suddenly heard the goat's cry. The animal screamed in true agony. It wasn't gentle and sounded closer than he'd wished. The pity he should have felt for the poor animal was completely suppressed by the fear of the soldiers' actions. They knew by now that they had been fooled. In no time, they would be hot on his heels. Saraf felt the urge to run as fast as he could toward the city. But he knew that shelter among the vines was his only salvation.

He therefore decided to remain hidden from the soldiers as long as possible, realizing that for the time being, he was stuck in his crouched, kneeling, and hunched position. This position was becoming increasingly difficult, and he longed for nothing more than to stand up straight and stretch out completely. But instead, he knelt down and cautiously looked out over the vines toward the city.

Never before had Herod's three towers been such an important anchor for him. He estimated the distance at about five minutes' walk at a normal pace. But his pace wasn't normal. It would take him perhaps half an hour to reach that place in this crouched position. Saraf tried to gauge the approximate location of the connecting road to the Damascus Route and estimated it was about twice as close. He suspected that the soldiers expected him to choose the shorter route to the road. This meant, instead, that he had to keep to the three towers.

Saraf began to crawl again. His knees were becoming increasingly painful, but on his crouch, he felt cramps. The bag containing his Torah scroll was also becoming increasingly heavy and unwieldy. Despite all the discomfort, Saraf was getting closer to the city. His escape route seemed successful. Every now and then, he checked his ears, but he heard no sound of footsteps behind him.

Unfortunately, that changed when the towers, like three colossal giants, filled his field of vision. Saraf realized that the soldiers had discovered that he had chosen not the shortest, but the longest route to the causeway. In the distance, he heard the sound of rapid footsteps, cutting through the rows of vines. The loud consultation of men's voices sounded ever closer. Saraf estimated his distance to the causeway again. Half a minute's walk. If he ran, he'd get there much faster.

Saraf decided to take the risk, leaped from the vines, and broke into a run like he'd never run before in his life. But his speed was disappointing. He felt like he wasn't making any progress. His legs refused to pick up speed. Too late, Sararaf realized that the long period of sneaking and crawling hadn't done his fitness any good. He ran like an old man, jerking and stumbling. His legs felt stiff and stuck to the ground. Every so often, he'd give way to a dip or a bump in the earth between the vines. Then they seemed to pop out of their sockets, as if he had no control over them. The rows of vines were angled relative to the road, and every few steps he had to weave through them. This, too, severely hampered his pace.

Behind him, he heard the soldiers shouting and giving chase. Sararaf sensed he was still too far from the road to stay out of their grasp. But he kept running as fast as he could. Waddling and staggering, he made progress. But it was much slower than he was used to. It seemed like a bad dream, where he was being chased and where running was somehow impossible. The condition of the soldiers behind him seemed fine. He heard their panting and their voices steadily drawing closer.

From a distance, he saw the pilgrims walking along the road. And among the pilgrims, he suddenly saw a contubernium of Roman soldiers. A flash of doubt flashed through Saraph. He didn't know if they could be trusted. The Romans behind him, however, were certainly not kosher, and he kept running. Yet, the destination ahead suddenly felt very uncertain. A wave of fatigue washed over him. He was at the end of his strength and could barely move a leg for the other. But still he ran, completely out of breath and with a sharp pain in his side.

Suddenly, he felt himself being grabbed by his tunic, and the next moment, a strong hand clamped tightly around his arm. He couldn't move forward. With his eyes still fixed on the road, Saraf screamed, the only thing he could manage at that moment:

"Help!"

In the last moment he could look at the road, he saw the helmets of several soldiers from the contubernium turning towards him. He wanted to scream again:

"He...!"

A hand was roughly placed over his mouth. He was lifted up. Two soldiers held him down, one around his chest, with a hand over his mouth, and one around his legs. Saraf couldn't breathe nearly enough. He could barely move, but kicked with all his might, making it difficult for the soldiers to move. He bit the hand that was holding him.

"Help!" he managed to say again, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

Once again, the hand closed over his mouth, this time much tighter. In utter helplessness, he was led away from the path where he had seen the pilgrims walk, away from the Herod Towers, which had been his beacon of freedom all this time. But despite the shortness of breath and the exhaustion, he kept struggling, trying to reconnect with the ground. Then he felt himself being released. He fell. The next moment, everything around him went black.

 

(66)

A starker contrast was almost impossible: the stately old priest in pristine white among pilgrims in their faded, dirty, dusty peasant clothes. The priest's hands gripped the stone edge of the pew where he sat, his head downcast, staring at the ground. This position made it clear to everyone that his scalp was increasingly visible through his thinning gray hair. But he didn't care at that moment. His gaze was fixed on one of the beautiful marble mosaic tiles. He concentrated on the octagonal shape of black, yellow, and orange marble. With a little imagination, he discovered in the marble's structure the shadows cast by the sun on the seabed during a calm break of the waves.

With all his mental strength, he tried to break free from the nasty, angry dream world that had once again overwhelmed him and caused him to become physically unwell. By breathing regularly, he tried to regain control. And above all, by no longer thinking about the word that had just triggered the nightmare. The attention he received from the farmers helped. Normally, he would have shuddered at all those hands, but now it was a welcome distraction. One farmer after another patted him gently on the shoulder, or on the arm, or on the leg. Annas let it all pass, hoping to be released from the atmosphere of his nightmare. Opposite him stood Matthias. He was still trying to arrange a conversation about the interesting story the pilgrims wanted to share with him.

"Father, when you're feeling a bit better, can the farmers tell their story?"

Annas didn't look up. His gaze remained fixed on the marble floor. Inside, he felt an enormous resistance to that story. Like his dream, it was something unknown, something he had no control over. He hated that. He had just brought all the forecourts back into line by simply ignoring the story. Annas made his inner decision. He would hermetically seal himself off from that story—whatever it was. If he didn't go along with it, it would die out on its own. Matthias asked his question again:

"Father, are you feeling better again? The pilgrims are eager to tell their story."

Annas made a dismissive gesture with his hand horizontally.

"But Father..." Matthias tried again.

But again, the same hand gesture followed, this time more intense. Matthias knew when it was best to remain silent, and he remained silent. Gradually, Annas felt his strength return and he carefully stood up, asking:

“Do you still see Caiaphas and Jonathan standing somewhere?”

Matthias looked around and replied:

“Yes, I still see them standing at the gate of Nicanor.”

“Good, then we’ll tell them where the meeting will be tonight. Will you come with me?”

“But, Father, the pilgrims…”

“The pilgrims can find their own way home.”

“But their story. They have…”

“I’ll hear that story later. I have other things on my mind right now.”

Without looking up or around, Annas walked toward the gate of Nicanor. Matthias raised both arms apologetically to the peasants and then followed his father. Arriving at the gate, Annas had completely lost his nighttime fears. He stood directly across from Caiaphas and said cheerfully:

"We'll just forget about the high priest's chamber for a moment. With that Mikvah in the middle, it's becoming a bit awkward as a meeting room. I propose that we meet in the Lower Sanhedrin chamber for the time being. They're not meeting tonight. And we don't need more than twenty-three members for decision-making. Do you have a list of members yet?"

"We already have a few names, including John and Matt."

"Would you do me a favor and invite Alexander as well?"

"We'll approach him. We just saw Gamaliel walking around. Should we invite him as well?"

"Hmmm. He's a Pharisee. Do we know what we have?"

Caiaphas was silent. Annas drew a conclusion:

"No, I think it would be better not to invite a believer in the resurrection of the dead."

Caiaphas remained silent. It was clear that Annas was still his superior. He then remarked:

“Samuel, Jacob, Eleazar, Jeshua, Seraiah, have you sounded them out yet?”

Then Annas’ gaze shifted to Jonathan, and he said sternly:

“And you know it: not a word about the reasons for the soldiers’ absence!”

Sighing, Jonathan looked down as he said: “Yes, Father, I know.”

Suddenly, Caiaphas said:

“And shall we then immediately address the pilgrims’ story?”

 

(67)

Vitellius almost enjoyed a few quiet moments on the Vine Path, among the two Jewish girls, whom he held tightly by their clothes, preventing them from moving anywhere. Although little of the hilly panorama was visible from their seated position, the pastoral setting of the path, the vines and trees silhouetted at varying distances against the blue sky, was a feast for Vitellius’ eyes. He pondered that after his military service he would start as a winegrower and learn the tricks of the trade from the farmers who had their farms here near Jerusalem. But suddenly he was startled out of his thoughts.

"Vitellius, the tombstone of the Rabbi whose grave you were supposed to be guarding, how far do you think it was rolled from the grave?"

The question brought Vitellius back to the grim reality of his life. A life that, given his state of service at that grave might not last much longer. Vitellius' eyes reluctantly tore away from a fig tree that towered stately above the vines and slowly slid toward the two dark-skinned gazers beside him. A mischievous smile shone beneath them. She knew she was making him uncomfortable with her questions, and yet she persisted. Vitellius decided to set her question aside for the moment and looked back above the vines. He wondered how this child could know about the tombstone. He considered how long ago it had all been.

It seemed like a year ago to him; so much had happened since then. But the strange events were barely a day old. And here sat a Jewish child, asking questions about it. Vitellius thought it was almost impossible that she had already been at the grave. He considered that she might have heard it from someone else. Suddenly, Vitellius understood why Malchus had given his outlandish command to seize the children. These children knew too much. Vitellius, however, was baffled by how Malchus could know they knew so much. Vitellius searched his memory. Like guardsmen, they were the source of all the news about the tomb. As far as he could tell, he had been with Malchus all morning. He searched his memory for a moment when he and Malchus had been briefly separated. Suddenly, he remembered. It was shortly after he had inspected the tomb. Malchus had had the opportunity to eavesdrop on the Rabbi's followers as they visited. He had bumped his head hard and walked toward the garden exit so as not to arouse the followers' suspicions.

"Well, Vitellius? How far do you think the stone was rolled?"

Maria persisted, her dark, questioning eyes fixed on him. It was a trick question, as she already assumed he had witnessed a stone being rolled away. Any answer based on that premise pinned him down as a witness. Vitellius pondered for a moment how he would respond to the question. Should he ignore it? But he had also ignored almost all of her previous questions. Maria seemed to possess the patience of a saint, because for a while she remained silent. Then suddenly it sounded:

"If you avoid the question, you give the impression that you know everything about it, Vitellius."

"Then so be it," he replied irritably.

"Was it about twenty yards?"

Vitellius glanced at her sideways again and couldn't help but laugh. He experienced that children can be disarmingly direct. But it matched exactly the distance he had estimated. No one could have imagined early this morning that he would be bombarded with questions from a child that very day about the terrifying event that seemed to drain all his life force. But his laughter had given him away.

"Yes, indeed." “Everything Saraf told me this morning is spot on,” Maria concluded.

“Wait a minute,” Vitellius protested, “you haven’t heard anything from me.”

“Your reaction is enough for me,” she said, looking ahead.

“And who is Saraf?” Vitellius asked.

“That’s the boy you suddenly started chasing,” Maria replied accusingly. She glared at him, which suited her perfectly.

“And how did Saraf know all that, about the tomb and all that?”

“Ha, so you admit it’s true!” Maria replied triumphantly.

Irritated, Vitellius looked back at the beautiful fig tree among the vines. He wondered if he had betrayed himself.

“I’m not admitting anything. I’m just asking how he got those stories.”

“That wasn’t how you asked it. Your first question was how Saraf knew all that, about the tomb and all that.” And now you're suddenly turning it into 'those stories.' That's not fair, Vitellius!

Her persistence was beginning to grate on him. Vitellius could only sigh deeply and return to silence. And then came the next question, which unsettled him.

 

(68)

With his elbows resting on the center rim of the two-part pool, Pilate considered taking at least one more dip before drying off and resuming his afternoon's duties. The crystal-clear water, which originated from Solomon's Wells and flowed to Herod's Palace via an aqueduct and an ingenious system of pipes, had almost completely stopped, so that the mosaic patterns on the large marble tiles of the pool's floor and walls bobbed steadily and rhythmically with the barely noticeable waves. Pilate stared at it. He was somewhat hypnotized.

He was the only one in the enormous room, which contained several baths of varying temperatures. The bathwater he was in was so comfortable that he had to overcome considerable internal resistance to get out. That afternoon, that resistance was for Pilate even more intense than usual because of recent events. Mesmerized by the gently swaying water, he enumerated the problems and riddles he faced as prefect of unpredictable Judea. A massive earthquake followed by countless cracks and fractures in countless buildings, including the fortress, the palaces, and the temple. A significant aftershock in the early morning, which had thwarted initial repair efforts. A massive crush of people due to an incessant stream of pilgrims, completely blocking all of Jerusalem's arteries. And to make matters worse, a full guard of two contubernia legionnaires, which seemed to have vanished into thin air and had been searched for all morning without success. The only bright spot was the enormous tax revenue generated by the influx of Jewish pilgrims with their offerings. Through clever agreements with the temple's priestly class, he, as magistrate, could profit considerably from this.

He silenced a faint inner voice of conscience, still lingering somewhere within the magistrate, by starting to move again for the one last swim he would at least take, and by the thought that the enormous bureaucratic headaches of the commotion had to be compensated for somehow. The moment Pilate emerged from the water, he saw through the receding water the hazy figure of a centurion between two pillars of the colonnade surrounding the bathing area, and he knew that this would have to be his one dive.

“Ave, Prefect!” the centurion greeted, his fist pressed to his chest.

“Ave, Maximus,” Pilate replied, ascending the pool-wide steps, water dripping from his body.

“So, it was your men who were missing from the tomb this morning?” Pilate asked, taking a large towel from his slave and immediately steering the conversation in the right direction.

"Yes, I still have to make do with sixty-four men instead of eighty."

"So, are we even managing to maintain surveillance in your part of the area?"

"After this morning's cold-blooded action, bandits seem to be keeping a low profile in my region today. There are no problems at the moment."

"Fine, but you reportedly received information from the relieving guard about the situation they encountered at the tomb, is that correct?"

"Yes, they were Centurion Quartus' men. But he's having a lot more trouble with his men at the moment. There were some disturbances in his region, and his legionaries' visit to the tomb deeply affected them."

"What did they see there?"

"There were a few remarkable facts. First of all, of course, the complete absence of my men's guard, whom they were supposed to relieve. Secondly, they found the tombstone about twenty yards from the tomb, flat on its side, with the broken Roman seals on it, corresponding to the remains of seals on the tomb's opening. But they made the strangest discovery of all when they entered the tomb.

"So, what did they see there?" asked Pilate curiously, as his slave put the toga on him.

"Well, how shall I put it? Hmm. They found the grave cloths in a way you wouldn't expect."

"What? Had his followers removed the grave cloths from the body?"

"No, that's precisely the point."

"How can the grave cloths be in the tomb if the followers didn't unwrap the body?"

"We don't know."

"Yes, what kind of vague story is this, centurion? Explain yourself. What was wrong with those grave cloths?"

"Well, they were untouched." As if the body had mysteriously disappeared.

"But how is that possible?"

"Yes, we don't know. It's a mystery."

"I assume you took the grave cloths?"

"No, the soldiers were so distraught that they left everything at the grave."

"Then I'm going to order your men immediately to retrieve those grave cloths from the grave before someone else does. I want to know what the condition of the grave cloths is."

"But prefect, I already have to make do with two contubernia less."

"Priorities, centurion! Priorities! This is now even more important. The Jewish authorities moved heaven and earth to have this Rabbi crucified and buried, and they're terrified of him ruling over his own grave. They didn't have the grave guarded for nothing. It's our duty to get to the bottom of this mystery, as you call it."

"Hmm, good. I'll try to free up some men this afternoon to retrieve the burial cloths.'

'Don't try. You send some soldiers straight to the grave.'

'Okay. I'll see what I can do.'

'No, you do! And right away, before those cloths disappear.'

'Okay! I'll take care of it.'

'That's how I like it.'

The men looked at each other in silence for a moment.

'Have you heard anything about your missing contubernia?'

'Nothing. No trace. It seems the men, like the body, have gone up in smoke.’

‘There must be a rational explanation for this. Both for your men and for the body.’

‘I hope so.’

‘I know. What will we do with the men when they surface again?’

‘You know the penalty for desertion.’

Pilate looked seriously at the centurion and said:

‘A military tribunal will have to decide on that.’

And to underscore the urgency of the order, Pilate added: ‘Much will depend on the grave cloths. It is all the more important to find them.’

At that moment, an infantryman burst into the bathing area and exclaimed, breathlessly:

‘Ave, Prefect. I have important news for you.’

(69)

‘You just heard the pilgrims’ story, haven’t you?’ Caiaphas asked Annas in surprise. The high priestly elite were conferring on the threshold of the Nicanor Gate, which separated the inner court from the women's court.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Annas replied again.

Surprised, Caiaphas turned to Annas' son over his shoulder and asked:

"Matthias, weren't you supposed to take your father to the pilgrims to tell him the story…?"

He couldn't finish his sentence because Annas interrupted him:

"Do you want to leave that boy out of this? I repeat, I don't know what you're talking about."

Jonathan had understood the High Priest's unfinished question and was about to answer it:

"Father suddenly became unwell when…"

But Annas cut him off:

"Matthias!" he said, raising his voice, nodding his head vigorously toward the ground. Matthias recognized the gesture of supreme excitement and remained silent. For a moment, the priests were completely silent. Annas looked straight at Caiaphas, and as he narrowed his eyes, he said:

"I felt sick when the pilgrims began to explain their story. So let me never hear anything about that story again."

"But Annas, it's about..."

"Is it about them seeing Him? If you believe that, you can exchange your membership in the Sadducee sect for one in the Pharisees and take off your high priestly robes for good."

"No, Annas, that wasn't it."

"Good. Then we can get back to business."

"But Annas, the pilgrims have..."

"If you make one more comment about the pilgrims, I decide to hold tonight's meeting around the high priestly Mikvah after all." Then we can immediately discuss the failure of the Western Lamp.'

Caiaphas looked at Annas in astonishment.

'Not a word about pilgrims, not even tonight – unless it's about the proceeds for the Temple.'

After a brief moment of silent agreement from Caiaphas and Annas' two sons, Annas gave his orders for that evening.

'I want you to immediately compile a list of about twenty members of the Higher Sanhedrin, with whom we will consult tonight about the guard at the tomb. Tell them only about their dereliction of duty, that they had already left the tomb before the change.'

'Annas, can we possibly use the soldiers' neglect against Pilate?' asked Caiaphas.

Annas pointed his index finger at Caiaphas's chest and said, 'That's how I know you.' A very good point for tonight's meeting.'

'Father, then we can immediately discuss the attack on Malchus in the Garden of Gethsemane,' Jonathan remarked, encouraged by the compliment his father had just given.

Annas' index finger twirled from Caiaphas to Jonathan as he said:

'It's good that you reminded me, but it's less suitable as a meeting topic in the Sanhedrin. The Sanhedrin wasn't present at the arrest.'

'Shall I walk back to the palace with you? Then I'll question Malchus about the facts surrounding the arrest,' Jonathan replied.

'I appreciate your efforts, but you're needed more here. It won't be easy for you to find at least twenty council members willing to help decide the fate of the soldiers tonight.'

'But... will we decide the fate of those soldiers?' Jonathan wondered aloud.

'What were you thinking? They're coming before a military tribunal, of course.' But that's the official story, the drama. After all, the soldiers were deployed for our cause, and we are the victims. We decide where the drama ultimately leads before the military tribunal: acquittal or death.

"But... doesn't Pilate want to keep that decision to himself?" Jonathan asked again.

His father tilted his head slightly and looked at him from beneath a frown as he replied:

"You still have a few things to learn about politics, my dear boy. Of course, Pilate wants to keep that decision to himself. The question is whether we will allow him to do so. And as you saw in the trial of the Rabbi of Nazareth, there are few decisions the governor can make independently."

"But that was a Jewish Rabbi and these are Roman soldiers."

"Roman soldiers who neglected their duty to guard the dead Jewish Rabbi on behalf of Jewish priests."

Jonathan laughed briefly, his head tilting slightly back, and he looked at his father admiringly. Meanwhile, Annas elaborated on Caiaphas's suggestion:

"Therefore, as Caiaphas said, we might be able to get more out of this than just..."

Annas stopped mid-sentence. A tremendous crash of falling rocks resounded from the priests' courtyard.

 

(70)

"What do I smell all the time?" Maria asked suddenly.

"Do you smell that too, Matilda?"

It took a moment for Matilda, who was sitting on the other side of Vitellius along the Vine Path, to answer. She raised her nose and sniffed loudly and distinctly several times.

“Yes, I smell something too. That smell is so familiar. Where have I smelled that before?”

Suddenly, Matilda answered her own question:

“I know, at a funeral. It’s the smell of balm.”

“Yes, I thought so too,” Maria replied. “But where does it come from?”

Vitellius stood back, pretending not to be involved in the conversation. But that soon became difficult to maintain. He sat a little further back, his hands holding the girls’ clothes. Maria picked up one of the two titula from the ground and smelled it.

“It certainly isn’t this one,” she concluded. She glanced at the wooden sign and read aloud what it said:

“Abner, son of Terah, of Jericho, robber.”

She put the sign back and picked up the other.

“No, this one doesn’t smell either—Jabez, son of Hiram, of Jericho, a robber.”

She put the second plate back as well. For a moment they sat silently next to each other. Suddenly, Maria looked back and dove backward, face down, toward Vitellius’ hand, which was holding her. Vitellius was startled and immediately understood what she was doing. Maria looked him straight in the eye and asked:

“They are your hands, Vitellius. Your hands smell so strongly of myrrh and aloe. How is that possible?”

For a moment, Vitellius stared into the beautiful dark eyes of the girl, who had noticed everything. He didn’t know how to answer. His inspection of the tomb was an important secret that only the high priests were allowed to know. The secret was possibly his ticket to death. These children were not to know what he had seen there under any circumstances. But the smell on his hands spoke volumes. Unsure what to say, he fell silent again. But once Mary had a hold, she didn't let go easily. After a short time, she asked:

"Did you happen to be in the Rabbi's tomb after the stone was rolled away?"

Vitellius grew tired of this and tried to silence her with a threat.

"Listen, you who are so eager to know everything. Knowing everything isn't always healthy. If you keep asking questions and drawing unfounded conclusions, you'll endanger yourself and this girl here."

Matilda felt offended and responded indignantly:

"Do you mean me? I'm not afraid. Mary, just keep asking. We need to find out as much as possible so we can answer my uncle at the next Scripture reading."

But Mary stopped asking questions for a moment. Vitellius saw that his remark had gotten through to her, and for a while she sat staring into space. But then she said:

“For you soldiers, the Rabbi from Nazareth may not be important, but for us he is. We would like to know what happened at his grave this morning.”

Although his remark had had an effect, it had come out much sharper than Vitellius had intended. Now that Maria was pushing for an open conversation, he didn’t want to close himself off and asked:

“And why is He so important to you then?”

Maria thought for a moment. Then she replied:

“I think you know that, Vitellius. You must have noticed in the fortress the week before Passover that large crowds gathered when He rode into Jerusalem on a donkey’s colt, shouting loudly: Hosanna to the Son of David!”

“That was short-lived popularity. Those expectations came to nothing. He was crucified.”

“That’s right. We all thought it was over for Him.” But you saw things at the tomb that have given us new hope.’

‘You don’t know at all what I saw at the tomb.’

Vitellius saw Mary looking at him again. The expression in her eyes was somewhere between pleading and demanding. Then she summed up everything she knew:

‘You couldn’t guard the dead Rabbi, you saw the stone twenty cubits from the tomb, you were in the tomb, where you somehow got the scent of the ointment on your hands.’

Vitellius felt like he was sitting next to his centurion instead of a Jewish child. He decided to proceed the tactic of counter-questioning:

"And you, where were you heading just now? To the temple perhaps?"

Mary looked ahead for a moment and then said:

"Saraph said that because he was afraid you would stop us. And look. Was he right or not? And why?"

Vitellius couldn't answer. This was just as much a question for him.

"I don't know why he suddenly ordered us to seize you. It was very strange."

"Who is that man who said that, the man in the blue tunic?"

Again, Vitellius wasn't sure he could share this. It showed what a crazy situation they had found themselves in. They were under the control of priests and had to constantly figure out how to keep them happy. Malchus would certainly not appreciate it if he told this child who he was. It might even put her in danger. He thought for a moment. Then he said:

“Does that matter?” Vitellius asked. “We were on a mission with him.”

“Yes, that’s quite clear,” Maria remarked nonchalantly. “A mission to Golgotha, where the Rabbi was crucified. See here, the title of the crosses. And you were in the garden where the Rabbi was buried. Your hands smell of the balm.”

“And you? Where did your mission go?”

“Well, what do you think, Vitellius? After all the questions I’ve asked you?”

“But why did you want to go there? What business are you, priest children, having there?”

“Saraf was there this morning. He saw the stone rolled away from the tomb. He even claims to have seen Him Himself.”

Utterly surprised, Vitellius looked into the girl’s expectant eyes. Her expression showed she was deadly serious and had unwavering confidence in the reliability of Saraf's testimony. As he looked ahead again, his thoughts returned to what Malchus had heard from the disciples, who also said they had seen the Rabbi in person. That memory was the moment he was overwhelmed by something he hadn't expected at all.

 

(71)

Still dizzy and stretched out on the ground, Saraf looked into the helmeted face of a Roman soldier. For a moment, he wondered where he was. After a moment, the situation flashed back to him: Roman soldiers were chasing him. He wanted to get up and run away as quickly as possible, but his body was too weak, and he could only manage a slightly upright position with his elbows resting on the ground beside him. A throbbing pain radiated from his neck, spreading from the back of his head to above his eyes. Moreover, the soldier held him back with his hand. Above the soldier's helmet, a second soldier silhouetted itself against the clear blue sky, saying:

"Just lie there for a moment. You've been unconscious for a while. You shouldn't put any pressure on your head again so quickly."

His physical condition and the soldiers' medical care overcame the fear that had gripped him for the past hour, and Saraf lay back down. He looked to his left and right. Vines grew on either side of where he lay. He was still in the field, where his last attempts at escape had ended in the arms of the soldiers who had been hot on his heels all this time. Saraf wondered if these were the same soldiers. His last glance at the connecting road along the city flashed through his memory. He had seen a contubernium walking there, which he had tried to alert. The question was whether he had succeeded.

Saraf tried to determine how many soldiers were near him. From his lying position, he looked around again. To see behind him, he tilted his head back as far as he could, resting the top of his head on the ground. For a moment, he saw the world upside down and searched for the soldiers somewhere in the upper field of vision. He counted at least three more. That brought the total to five, one more than the number who had been chasing him. The soldiers noticed that Saraf was sufficiently reassured and left him to himself. But Saraf saw that they didn't leave. They stayed close to him. After Saraf had lain on the ground for a while, one of the soldiers came back to sit next to him and asked:

"Did you know the soldiers who were chasing you and who wanted to kidnap you?"

Lying on his back, Saraf shook his head and said:

"No, I've never seen them before."

"Could you identify them?"

Saraf thought for a moment and then said:

"I only saw them briefly and had to flee immediately." I can't quite remember their faces.'

'If you saw them up close, you'll recognize them,' the soldier replied. 'Where were you when they tried to capture you?'

'On the Vineyard Trail, with Maria and Matilda.'

'Where does the Vineyard Trail run?'

'It runs about a quarter mile west of the city, running north to south.'

'And who are Maria and Matilda?'

'Maria is with me at the Scripture reading, and Matilda is my sister.'

'And where are Maria and Matilda now?'

'Still on the Vineyard Path. One of the soldiers stayed with them while the other four followed me.'

'Oh, there were five of them?'

'Yes, five soldiers. And there was another man with them. He was wearing a blue tunic, and he gave the order to seize us. They were walking south on the Vineyard Path while the three of us were walking in the opposite direction. We stood aside to let them pass. But suddenly all six of them stopped, and that's when the man gave his order to the soldiers. I immediately fled into the vineyards.'

The soldier looked surprised. It was clear that this information didn't quite match his expectations, and he had to process it for a moment. That gave Saraf the opportunity to ask a question.

“What exactly happened from the moment I called you for help?”

“Did you call for help then? None of us heard it. There’s still a tremendous racket of singing and flute-playing on all the roads around the city.”

Saraf looked at the soldier in surprise and said:

“But I saw some of you looking my way.”

“That’s right. A large eagle was flying over the fields. We Roman soldiers have a soft spot for the eagle—the symbol on the standards of all Roman legions, you see?”

Saraf was silent with wonder and stared for a moment at the blue sky, high above him, where the eagle had flown somewhere. The soldier noticed that Saraf was astonished and explained:

“Because we were following the eagle’s flight over the hills, we suddenly saw you and the soldiers who were chasing you. We immediately sprang into action.

"Where are those soldiers now who wanted to kidnap me?"

"When they saw us running, they ran away as quickly as they could. You were too heavy and unwieldy a burden for them. That's why they dropped you on the ground. Three of our men went after them. But they haven't returned yet. It probably won't be easy to find them, catch them, and arrest them."

For a while, Saraf lay staring at the sky again. Then he said:

“I don’t understand why those five soldiers felt the need to grab three Jewish priest children.”

The soldier thought for a moment and then said:

“Perhaps they were the soldiers the whole legion has been searching for for half a day.”

“Have any soldiers disappeared then?”

“The guard at the Jewish Rabbi’s grave was missing at the time of the relief.”

“Do you mean the grave of Jesus of Nazareth?”

“Yes, I don’t know of any other Jewish Rabbi who was ever crucified.”

“Oh, I was at his grave this morning. I didn’t see a soldier there.”

The soldier looked at Saraf in surprise for a moment.

“You were at the grave this morning? A young priest?”

“Yes. There wasn’t a soldier to be seen.”

“And why were you at his grave?” I thought the priestly class wouldn't hear of this Rabbi.

"Most don't, no. But I think differently. I believe He is Messiah Ben David."

"So, and why do you think that?" the soldier wanted to know.

"So many miracles He performed. And His preaching—so completely different from anything Israel has ever heard, straight from the heart of Adonai."

The soldier looked at him with a disbelieving smile. Saraf tried to reinforce his point and said:

"And then, of course, the events of this morning, the earthquake, the tombstone that was rolled away from the grave and..." Saraf hesitated about telling everything to an unknown soldier. He had heard enough by then and said:

"Would you mind telling your story to the governor? He places great importance on eyewitnesses."

"I don't know if I have enough time for that today." I have to stand guard at the temple tonight.'

'Well, well,' the soldier responded with a laugh. 'We're dealing with an important priest here.'

Saraf ignored the scornful remark and said:

'And I want to know how Maria and Matilda are doing first. I'm worried about them.'

'Perhaps that will become clear when the three men from our contubernium return soon.'

'But we don't know for sure. But I think I need to calm down a bit first.'

'Of course. You've had a traumatic experience. You can also come to the Praetorium tomorrow, the day after, or later this week. What's your name? Then I can have your name passed on to the Praetorium.'

'My name is Saraf, son of Seraiah.'

'Fine. I'll remember that. By the way, could you try to get up again? Then we'll walk back to the city together in a moment.'

Saraf turned his head slightly. He was feeling much better already. When he lifted his head, it was clear that the headache had almost disappeared. He slowly stood up. The soldier held his arm in front of his face to pull him up. Suddenly, Saraf was startled by the same swaying sound he had heard earlier that day.

 

(72)

Caiaphas was the first of the high priestly company to spring into action. With long, occasionally hesitant steps due to the thundering noise, Annas watched him approach the scene of the crash of falling debris. The din was deafening and continued for some time. The commotion came from the chamber of the hewn stones, which had already been barricaded due to the risk of collapse. This had clearly been no unnecessary luxury, as the whole thing was coming down with great force. The magnitude of the noise indicated that assessing the damage was not an enviable task, and Annas was happy to leave it to the man who was officially the high priest and president of the highest court. Slowly, the sound of falling rocks died away. Except for the occasional ricochet, complete silence returned. Annas looked around the forecourt and saw that the eyes of all the priests and pilgrims were focused on the barricaded doors of the Sanhedrin's meeting hall. Not a single pilgrim lay prostrate on the ground. They had all jumped up in fright. The priests were no longer holding up the baskets of sacrificial fruit. Their arms hung limply at their sides. Here and there, the fruit had rolled out of the baskets onto the ground. The priests on the altar all stood in a row on the south side of the altar. The only thing that wasn't silent was a goat pinned to the ground with a shackle, ready to be slaughtered. The animal was struggling with all its might, with much bleating and screaming, to free itself, while the priest, knife in hand, watched the fading sound of debris.

The fact that all the eyes of the priests present were fixed on the door behind which the disaster had just unfolded awakened a remnant of duty in Annas's heart. After briefly nodding his two sons toward the door, he was the last to follow.

Several temple police had already arrived at the scene to remove the wooden beams from the doors. Once that was done, opening the doors proved to be no easy task. One of the officers arrived with the key, which he had immediately retrieved from the hearth. But even with the lock opened and the bolt removed, the door still wasn't open. The doorframe had slumped considerably, and the door rested on the marble floor. It took five shoulders of temple police to open the slit wide enough for the priestly elite to peer inside.

Annas and Caiaphas, heads bent, stared at the interior of the judgment chamber. Through the crack, Annas saw that the semicircle where they were meeting as the Sanhedrin was largely covered by stone and debris. The wall separating the hall from the 'laver', where the priests washed their hands and feet, had partially collapsed, spilling most of its mass onto the magnificent courtroom. Annas looked up and saw that not only was the ceiling of the courtroom pierced by a huge hole, but that the roof above it had also partially collapsed. Above it, he saw the brilliant blue spring sky, dotted with clouds, shimmering white in the spring sunshine. The sun's rays, shining through the roof, seemed almost like solid bundles in the swirling dust clouds. Annas had seen enough and pulled his head away from the gap between the doors. Jonathan immediately took his place. Caiaphas also stood upright and looked with frightened eyes into Annas' unwavering gaze, saying in an unsteady voice:

"Right above where He stood."

"Yes, and?" was Annas's only response.

“Well, you know what He said, don’t you?”

“Caiaphas, He’s dead. What difference does it make what He said?”

Caiaphas paused, staring at the priest at the altar, who was slitting the throat of the bleating goat.

Annas followed his gaze and added:

“And you know: dead is dead. As dead and powerless as that goat over there.”

“But…”

“No buts. Whatever He may have said, nothing will come of it.”

Suddenly, Jonathan joined in, saying:

“Did you see that? The clouds of heaven, above the place where He pronounced His own death sentence?”

“Are you starting now too?” Annas asked contemptuously.

But youthful innocence was harder to silence than the sense of duty of middle age, and Jonathan continued:

“And yet it’s striking.” The sun's rays touched the spot where He stood when He said He would appear at the right hand of the power and coming with the clouds of heaven.

Then his eyes met his father's downright scornful face, and he knew he had better keep quiet about the matter. But his father said:

"Dust!"

Six eyes of the younger generation of priests were fixed on the old patriarch, who at that moment considered himself the last pillar of Israel.

“I saw dust there.”

Curious where he was going with that remark, they continued to stare at him.

“Dust you are, and to dust you shall return. So it happened to the Rabbi.”

The other priests remained silent. Annas turned back to Caiaphas and, pointing to the crack between the doors, raised his voice and said:

“Or would you rather have fallen down there in worship before Him instead of tearing your clothes?”

Caiaphas shook his head vigorously. And Annas continued:

“Because that was the alternative, wasn’t it, Jonathan? Didn’t we discuss this a little while ago at the entrance to the Holy Place? Were we to let Him wipe the floor with us? Are we a brood of vipers, Jonathan?”

Before Jonathan could answer, a stately dressed man with a huge beard suddenly appeared behind the priests. He placed his hand on Annas' shoulder and said:

"Annas, have you heard about the pilgrims?"