Cornelius nodded his head solemnly. “Yet we Romans call ourselves modern and civilized people.” They rode on in silence for a few moments. “Maybe we did well in being away from Jerusalem most of the week of the feast,” Cornelius finally commented. “Maybe we escaped being assigned by the Procurator to a crucifixion detail.”
“I hope so; I’ve no stomach for serving on one again,” Decius agreed. “You know, Centurion, I’ve just been thinking that very likely many of Bar Abbas’ cutthroats are right up there in Jerusalem in that Passover crowd. It wouldn’t surprise me if some of them should try to rescue those three Zealots.”
Cornelius nodded. “It wouldn’t surprise me either. I suspect that most of them, in fact, doubled back that night and beat us into Jerusalem and got themselves quickly lost in the surge of Passover pilgrims. And only the gods know how many other Zealots are swarming all over the city with their daggers sharpened for our throats.”
It was almost midday when they moved through the defile between the boulders where a week before they had been waylaid by the Zealot chieftain. This time Cornelius sent a scouting party ahead to reconnoiter. But no marauder was encountered.
In the level beyond the rocks the century paused to eat and rest. But not for long. Soon Cornelius gave the order to reassemble in marching formation. The sun was straight overhead, and the air was warm and heavy; a stifling stillness presaged a violent storm. “I’d like to get into Antonia before it breaks,” the centurion observed to Decius, as they mounted their horses. “Look.” He pointed off toward the southwest where an immense angry black cloud hovered low. “By mighty Jove, it must be already dark in Jerusalem.”
The tall Galilean arose from the steps before the Beautiful Gate and bending over, caught the hand of the prostrate, frightened woman. “Neither do I condemn you, my sister,” he said gently, as he helped her to her feet and she lifted tearful, penitent eyes to him. “Go, and sin no more.”
“He is truly a good man, Tullia, a noble man of warm heart, a generous, forgiving, good man. But a god? No, little one.” They were watching the woman as she neared the corner of the Chel toward the Fortress of Antonia. “There are no gods.”