Nearly all the morning hours had been exhausted in the trial which left the centurion with the task of crucifying three condemned men. The sun was pressing toward its meridian, and the desert wind from the east which had prevailed during the night was quiet. A tense, hot stillness hung over Jerusalem, harsh as the dust that fogged the air, raised by the feet of thousands of pilgrims entering and leaving the temple compound. It clung to the skin and caked the nostrils, and the centurion longed for the day when he would be pensioned home to the clear, cool air that flowed over the mountains of Italia.

He had been patient through the night with a forbearance born of military discipline, but now that the sentence had been passed and the routine or punishment begun, he was anxious to have it o…