Cold, bright moonlight, spilling over Jerusalem transformed the temple area into what might have been a setting out of Roman mythology. Standing on the parapet high atop the Antonia, the Roman Procurator, Pilate, let his gaze drift from the white temple buildings almost directly beneath him to the city beyond, but his mind was seeing the grandeur of Rome and his heart was filled with bitter nostalgia.

He did not turn at the sound of steps behind him, nor did he speak when the centurion moved to his side. The officer was in full military regalia, his breastplate gleaming in the moonlight, the red plume of his helmet wafting in the dry east wind, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his short battle sword. Sounds from the temple area drew their attention. A crowd had gathered in the cour…