“Who are you?” demanded Livy, backing into the kitchen as the man pushed his way inside. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you,” he said. Firmly but noiselessly he shut the door behind him. Then he threw back his hood, revealing short hair and a muscular neck. His eyes were as black as his beard. A ragged scar stretched from the middle of his forehead to his left temple. The top half of his left ear was missing.

“Me?” Livy eyed him carefully. “Why do you want to talk to me?” He looked dangerous, yet she didn’t feel afraid of him —only curious. The scar, the wounded ear —they were the marks of a fighter. What did he fight for?

The visitor, apparently unsurprised by her boldness, moved slowly into the room. As he did so, the dog trotted over to him, wagging its tail and licking his hand.

“Good dog, Kalb,” said the man, gently stroking the animal’s head. “I sent him to follow you,” he explained, looking up at Livy. “I’ve come to make you an offer —an offer I believe you will find most interesting.”

She shook the hair out of her face. “Really?” she said with a laugh. “You don’t even know me!”

It was fun to swagger and put on a brave front, she thought. And she found this intruder fascinating. She hadn’t met anyone like him since the day the Romans captured her and took her away from her home in Gaul six years ago. He was completely unlike the grown-up Romans she’d been living with —except for her mistress, who wasn’t as predictable and proper and boring as the others.

This man seemed wild, free, with an air of adventure and mystery. He was obviously a Jew, but there were qualities about him she’d never seen in a Jewish man: a fierce passion, an intense fire in the eyes. He reminded her of her father —the bold, defiant Celtic warrior-chief, a man who carried the scars of many battles and bowed his knee to no one.

“You’re right,” the man said with a cool stare. “I don’t know you —yet. But I know something about you. You’re a slave, a personal servant to the governor’s wife. You said so yourself yesterday, in the Court of the Gentiles. I saw what you did there. Very resourceful. ‘The girl has spirit,’ I said to myself. That’s why I sent Kalb after you. That’s why I looked you up.”

He paused and squinted at her. “You don’t like being a slave, do you?”

Livy scowled. “Would you?”

His smile suddenly faded. “No. I don’t! And I won’t go on being a slave to the Romans —not without a fight. For years I’ve dreamed of throwing off their rule —of being free! That’s why I’m here. I need your help.”

“My help?”

“I know I’m taking a big risk. But after seeing you in action yesterday, I’m convinced it’s worth it. I’m fighting to free my people from slavery to Rome. And I believe you can help me.”

Freedom fighters, she thought. Zealots. So that’s it! He’s one of them.

So he was fighting for freedom! It was clear that he wanted it badly enough to die for it, and that he wanted it now —not eight or ten years from now. He looked like the kind of man who could fight and win, the kind of man she and Quintus needed on their side in their own quest for freedom.

“But how can I help you?” she asked. “What do you want from me?”

His eyes narrowed. His voice was low and intense. “I need someone inside the governor’s household —someone with ears to hear and eyes to see. I need to know how much the Romans know . . . what they’re thinking, what they’re planning.”

“A spy, you mean?”

Waiting for his answer, she noticed he was no longer looking at her face but at her feet. No, not her feet —something on the floor next to her feet. Then she saw it.

The parchment! There it lay, faceup on the paving stones, the words on its surface plain for anyone to see.

Before she could think or make a move, the man in the dark cloak lunged forward. He seized the parchment, came up with it in his hand, and stood reading it, a slow smile spreading over his face.

“Well!” he said warmly. “What have we here? Bar Abbas . . . Freedom fighters . . . Messiah . . . Liberator . . . King . . . Find out more. Looks like somebody’s a step ahead of me! Did you write this?”

Livy’s palms began to sweat. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought the man must be able to hear it. She scrunched up her nose. “What if I did?”

“Well, for one thing, it could be very uncomfortable for you if this were to fall into the wrong hands. Very uncomfortable.”

“Like your hands, for instance?” she shot back.

His thick eyebrows lifted. “What do you think?”

“How do I know what to think? I can’t trust you.”

He smiled. “Looks like you haven’t any choice . . . now that I’ve got this,” he said, holding up the parchment. “But there’s an even better reason. I think you share my dream —the dream of freedom. It’s a dangerous dream. But you believe the danger’s worth it. Am I right?”

Livy said nothing. But pictures she’d seen in her dream of home —her mother’s face, her father’s flashing sword, the sea, the pink and purple and yellow flowers —raced through her imagination. She wanted it all so badly she could taste it.

“Think of it!” the man in the kitchen was saying. “If my friends and I succeed, you’ll be free to go anywhere you want to go!”

There were footsteps outside. Oh no! Livy thought. Cook’s coming back!

The man threw himself against the door and held it shut. Someone on the other side began to knock.

Livy felt her stomach knotting. What would happen if she were caught talking to a freedom fighter? If he handed over her parchment? If she were discovered plotting revolution, planning escape?

“C’mon, Livy!” called a small voice from the other side of the door. “No more jokes, okay?”

She breathed a sigh of relief. Quintus!

The stranger searched her face. “Hold the door,” he whispered, “while I find a place to hide!” He held up the parchment. “And don’t forget, I’ve still got this!”

Livy laughed. “It’s just Quintus.” She cast a glance at Kalb and smiled to herself. “Go ahead and open the door.”

The stranger studied her closely.

“Go on,” she said. “It’s all right.”

Without a word, he eased the door open a crack. Quintus shoved his way inside, water jar first. “Took you long enough!” he said.

As the door closed behind him, the boy stopped and stared. Resisting an urge to laugh, Livy followed his eyes to the dark, furry shape in the corner.

“The dog!” Quintus cried. “Aauugghh!”

Quintus’s eyeballs rolled up into his head as the huge animal, its tail wagging happily, sprang on him. The dog planted its paws on the boy’s shoulders and began licking his face. Quintus tottered, swayed, and fell. The water jar crashed to the floor, spilling its contents across the paving stones.

The man in the gray cloak, his eyebrows raised, glanced over at Livy.

“Don’t worry,” she said, smiling. “He’s on our side.”