On Wednesday morning, Livy’s mistress woke her when the sky outside the window was just beginning to tremble with a pinkish glow. The girl rubbed her eyes, brushed the red hair out of her face, and stared sleepily as the lady explained her reasons for coming so early.

Procula had dreamed again —the same disturbing dream. She was determined to see the man called Jesus once more. She wanted to speak to him if possible, to listen to his words. She’d heard he was teaching in the temple every day. So Livy and Quintus would accompany her to the Court of the Gentiles that very afternoon.

Perfect, Livy thought. It would be a perfect chance to talk with the man in the gray cloak. Parting yesterday, they’d agreed to communicate whenever they could.

Kalb showed up in the street that morning, according to plan. It was understood that the dog signaled his master’s presence in the neighborhood. Slipping out of the courtyard, Livy found the zealot under a shadowed archway just outside the gate, and quickly arranged to meet him at the temple that afternoon.

The zealot. That was what she called him. She didn’t know his real name. When she asked him for it, he merely smiled, winked, and said, “I am the son of my father. What else do you need to know about me?”

By the time Procula, Livy, and Quintus reached the temple grounds, the sun was angling down over the Hinnom Valley to the west. The air was still very hot. Except for the absence of the whip and the money changers’ shouts, the scene was almost as hectic as it had been on Monday. If anything, the number of visitors and worshippers in the plaza had increased.

The festival atmosphere was even more pronounced. The bleating of goats and sheep and the fluttering and cooing of doves and pigeons could be heard everywhere. The blue smoke of burning sacrifices hung in the air above the enclosure.

“Over there!” said Livy suddenly, tugging at her mistress’s sleeve and pointing to a shady spot under the portico. Livy was proud of herself for having spotted Jesus. He sat in the middle of a large crowd of people, speaking to them in a clear, strong voice.

“Come,” said Procula, pulling the edge of her short cloak, or pallium, up over her head and taking Livy by the hand. Together they moved toward the knot of people for a closer look. Quintus followed at a safe distance.

As they neared the edge of the audience, it was difficult to see the speaker’s face. Livy stood on her toes and ducked this way and that in an attempt to gain a clearer view. Quintus, she noticed, was doing the same. Catching his attention, she mouthed the words, “Keep an eye out for you know who.” Quintus nodded and went back to the work of seeking a glimpse of Jesus’ face.

“Anyone who sins becomes a slave of sin,” the voice of Jesus was saying. “So stop sinning! Let the Son set you free. That’s the way to be really free!”

Slave. Free. Really free! Could it be that Cook was right about this man? Livy wondered. Had he really come to free the slaves? She had to admit his stunt with the whip was pretty daring. She decided to listen more closely.

“What’s he talking about?” mumbled a portly man in a blue-and-white prayer shawl who was standing at her elbow. “Just who is this ‘son,’ anyway?”

“I think he means himself,” responded a slight, plain-faced young woman beside him —apparently his daughter.

Livy, still holding Procula’s arm, felt her mistress tremble. She looked up and saw that the lady’s eyes were fixed on the speaker. An indescribable light seemed to glow in her face. Livy saw it and shivered.

“Himself! Well, no wonder then!” scoffed the man in the prayer shawl, puffing out his cheeks and blowing.

“No wonder what?” asked Lady Procula, turning suddenly.

“No wonder the priests and the Pharisees are so anxious to see him locked up —that’s what!” he answered. “They aren’t a bit pleased with him, I can tell you!”

Livy raised an eyebrow. What kind of man could inspire that kind of fear in the hearts of the rulers? Deliverer. Liberator. The true King. Messiah. Somehow she had to get a better look at this Jesus.

Leaning heavily on Procula’s shoulder, she raised herself to the tips of her toes. Then she craned her neck and strained to see over the heads of the people in front of her.

The first thing she noticed was his eyes. Livy held her breath. Was it possible? They were like the eyes she’d seen in the face of the lamb on the altar. Incredibly deep, full of more feelings than she could name. There was sorrow and pain but also quietness and a strange kind of joy. Now she understood why those eyes had so haunted her mistress, and why Procula was so driven to seek out this man.

As for the face in which those eyes were set . . . Well, it was rather disappointing. Unimpressive. Normal. Definitely not the face of a fighter or a king.

“Come to Me,” the voice was saying, “if you’re tired, worn out, and weighed down. I will give you rest. I will give you peace. Follow My example. I am gentle and humble.”

Gentle. Yes! Humble. That was the whole problem in a nutshell, Livy thought. She couldn’t imagine any chieftain back in Gaul talking about being gentle or humble. She couldn’t picture any Celtic warrior with a face like this man’s face. It showed no trace of the pride she remembered seeing the last time her father rode out to do battle with the Roman legions. It was a gentle, humble face, all right —the face of a common peasant.

How could a man with such a face set anybody free? Livy scrunched up her nose and dropped back down on her heels. She’d seen enough.

Suddenly there was a tug at her sleeve.

“Livy!” Quintus whispered. “Look! Over there! It’s him!”

She turned. Quintus was pointing to a dark corner behind two huge pillars about fifty paces from the edge of the crowd. Sure enough, it was the zealot. His bearded face was half hidden in the shadow of his gray hood, his great black dog panting patiently at his side.

Livy glanced up at Procula. It was obvious that the lady was aware of nothing but the teacher’s voice. Looks like the coast is clear, the girl thought.

Livy grasped Quintus by the shoulders and shoved him in the direction of the dark man. “Let’s go,” she whispered. “We’ve got an appointment to keep!”

Quintus, whose eyes were riveted on the black shape hunched at the man’s side, shook his head until his hair stood out like a ball of freshly washed lamb’s wool. He raised a skinny arm and waved her on. “You go ahead,” he said.

“Come on! He won’t bite.”

“Which one? The dog or the man?”

Livy glared at him. “Neither one. But I will if you don’t follow me right now!”

Finally Quintus budged —slowly. He makes a terrible spy, she told herself as they crossed the pavement. After all, they actually had something to tell the man in the dark cloak. Quintus had overheard an important bit of information while serving at Pilate’s table during the midday meal. This business of spying might be dangerous, but it could be fun too.

The zealot flashed his teeth at them from behind black whiskers as they approached. He beckoned to Livy with his hand. “What have you heard?”

“Tell him, Quintus!” she said.

But Quintus hung back. “If you’ll promise to hold on to that dog,” he said, frowning.

The zealot smiled again. “Don’t worry, my young friend,” he said. “I’ve got him firmly in hand. He won’t hurt you.”

Quintus slipped into the shaded corner and wiped his nose with his sleeve. “Well . . .” he mumbled, “Master Pilate got a message from Herod Antipas last night.”

The zealot tightened his lips and squeezed his eyebrows together in a dark knot. “The ruler of Galilee? What did he say?”

“Antipas told Pilate to be on the lookout for two men.” Quintus pointed in the direction of Jesus. “One was this Galilean teacher. The other was somebody else named Bar Abbas. He’s expected to show up in Jerusalem soon. Maybe this week.”

“Do you know him?” Livy asked the zealot. “Is he a friend of yours?”

“Possibly.” The man lowered his eyes, shadowed by his hood. “And what’s Pilate thinking? What’s his strategy?”

Quintus glanced nervously at the dog. “Um . . . when I was serving at the table, I heard him say he wants more soldiers in Jerusalem.”

“Sounds like he’s expecting trouble,” Livy said.

“More soldiers,” repeated the zealot, fingering the handle of a sword that he wore concealed beneath his cloak. “That’s bad. Very bad. We may lose our chance if we wait any longer.”

“Lose our chance?” asked Livy.

“Yes. Perhaps the time for action has arrived.” He stood straighter, taller. “Thank you, my young friends. I’m grateful for your help. And I will make it up to you.” Looking at Livy, he reached into his cloak and pulled out the parchment. “Provided, of course, that we maintain the terms of our agreement.”

Livy looked away, feeling a flash of anger.

“Stay true to me, and I won’t betray you. And be ready for anything. If nothing changes, look for Kalb outside your gate about this time tomorrow. When you see him, you’ll know I’m not far away. Until then, see what else you can find out. Shalom!”

He held up his hand in a gesture of farewell. The next moment he and the dog disappeared into the crowd.