Livy spent most of the rest of the morning in her mistress’s room, trying to sort out her feelings about the events of the past two days. Now that the excitement was over and the waiting had begun, she couldn’t help feeling as if a dark cloud were hanging over her head. There was a kind of numbness in that small space just beneath her heart, as if she were just too tired to care about anything anymore.

She sat on the little ivory stool with her chin in her hands. Procula noticed her silence.

“You, too, are troubled,” said the lady, glancing over at her servant girl with a look of deep concern.

Livy looked up and tried to smile. “I’m just thinking,” she said.

Procula was anything but silent, however. Livy had never seen her mistress so jumpy. The lady worried aloud about the outcome of the Nazarene’s trial. She paced the room, talking nervously, referring constantly to her dream and the strange pictures it contained. She couldn’t stop thinking, she said, about Livy’s explanation of those symbols. There were so many unanswered questions. How could Jesus be both a king and an innocent victim? She didn’t understand it, though she was convinced it must somehow be true. Nor could she bear to think that her own husband might be the cause of his innocent suffering. She hoped Pilate would heed her message and let the prisoner go.

Likewise, Livy couldn’t stand to think that the teacher from Nazareth might become the victim of Roman abuse. She didn’t want to think about suffering. Hadn’t there been enough of it already? She wanted to get away from suffering. She wanted to go back home to Gaul. Not the real Gaul, but the Gaul of the Otherworld. The land she’d seen in her dreams. That place where sunlight gleamed on the blue sea waves and flowers bloomed all year, where there was no slavery, pain, or death, but only brightness and unending joy.

What good can suffering —and dying —possibly do anyway? she thought. How can that set anybody free? She thought back to the first time she’d seen Jesus, a whip in his hand, a righteous fire in his eyes. Why didn’t he rise up and drive Pilate and the priests away as he had the merchants and money changers in the temple? Maybe he wasn’t so special after all. Who needed a suffering Messiah?

Perhaps she should have changed her mistress’s note to read: Pilate, you must release the prisoner Bar Abbas at all costs. Signed, Procula.

Livy squeezed her eyes shut, shook her head, and sighed. What a crazy idea! she thought. It wouldn’t have worked anyway. There was no solution here, no hope.

She frowned. Why had she allowed this thing to weigh her down so heavily? True, most of the Celts she knew tended to see the worst in any situation. But she wasn’t used to feeling depressed. She had to get out of this stuffy room and find something to do —anything at all —to help her forget about Jesus and Bar Abbas and slavery and freedom and . . . everything. She stood up and walked to the door.

“Livia! Where are you going?” said her mistress as Livy laid her hand on the latch.

“I’m sorry, Domina. May I have your permission to get out for a while? Maybe . . . I can find out what’s happening and let you know. I’ll be back soon.”

Procula studied the girl’s face for a long moment. “Very well,” she said softly. “Bring me good news, Livia.”

In the corridor Livy found a back stairway that didn’t lead to the open courtyard. She darted down the steps, taking them two at a time. From there she reached the northwest corner of the fortress, away from the center of the action. Then came the gate that led through the city wall and toward the hills north of Jerusalem.

The portal opened onto a drawbridge that crossed a narrow rectangle of water known as the Struthion Pool. The bridge could be pulled up during a siege but was usually left down. There were iron gates at both ends of the wooden span. The outer gate was locked and guarded by a sentry; the inner one was kept open except when invaders threatened.

This is perfect, thought Livy. Bending down, she picked up a handful of loose gravel from the base of the fortress wall and stepped onto the bridge. There she sat, dangling her feet over the dark water, and began dropping pebbles into the pool. She glanced toward the sun. As near as she could figure, it was already past noon —the sixth hour of the day.

She took a deep breath, held it, then slowly let it out. The fresh air was sweet. She just needed to forget the past week, that was all.

Choosing a small rock, she reached back and heaved it toward the outer gate. It struck the iron bars with a tiny clang.

The soldier on guard peered through the grating and scowled at her. Livy snickered, shrugged her shoulders innocently, and gave her dangling feet a little kick.

But what was this? As Livy watched, another shape appeared beside the soldier outside the gate. It reminded her of Kalb, the big black dog. In a few moments she realized it was Kalb, the big black dog.

Kalb’s big feathery tail began to wag back and forth. He whined and gave a short, friendly bark.

Livy got to her feet. What in the world? she thought.

The sentry prodded the dog with the butt of his spear. “Off with you, mutt!” he growled.

Kalb refused to move. Livy had the feeling he wasn’t looking at her but at something beyond her, at the other end of the bridge. His tongue was hanging out, and his tail lashed happily from side to side.

Just then a voice came from behind her.

“Livy!” called Quintus. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

What’s he doing here? she wondered. Isn’t he supposed to be waiting on Master at the trial? She turned and saw the boy approaching, then had an idea.

Turning, she called to the soldier at the gate. “Oh, thank you, sir! I’m so glad you’ve found him!” she called.

The man looked confused. “Found who?” he said.

“My dog!” Livy answered, running up to the gate and reaching through the bars to stroke Kalb’s black head. “I thought he was lost for good!”

“Your dog?” the guard said.

“Actually, he belongs to my mistress —the Lady Procula,” replied Livy.

The guard looked skeptical.

“Could you please open the gate and let him in?” Livy asked. “Oh, she’ll be so happy to see him!”

The guard frowned. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to if he really belongs to the governor’s wife.”

No sooner was the gate unlocked and opened than Kalb bounded inside with a joyous bark —just as Quintus set foot on the other end of the bridge. With a happy yelp the big animal shot past Livy and lunged at the boy, catching him off guard.

Livy saw the look of surprise in Quintus’s eyes. But then it was her turn to be surprised as the boy continued his approach. Waving his arms over his bushy head, he shouted, “Livy, I’ve got something to tell you! Something important!”

Before he could say another word, though, the dog was upon him. The two of them tumbled over the edge of the bridge and splashed into the Struthion Pool.

Looking down into the water, Livy saw Quintus’s head come bobbing to the surface. She watched as he coughed and spluttered. She started to laugh, but stopped when the boy opened his eyes. Whatever his message was, it had possessed him entirely, and he was bursting to deliver it. He opened his mouth and let it out.

“Livy!” he shouted. “They let Bar Abbas go! They’re going to crucify Jesus!”