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never visit?”
    “Don’t con me, Pastor,” Hewitt warned as he went back inside the church.

Chapter 7

First-century Jerusalem

    It was a busy evening at the Antonia Fortress. There was an order given to capture a rebel who had been spreading the news that the rabbi killed on the cross had risen from the dead. The reward was sizeable. There was a measure of disbelief among the soldiers preparing to spread out across the countryside to quell the blasphemous rumors. Despite this important edict handed down by his superiors, Titus ignored his orders.
    Instead, he hid in the lower bowels of the prison and closed his eyes. He couldn’t avoid being noticed.
    “Titus, you are to join the first army,” said Plavius, his superior officer. He kicked at his head. “Awake, you lazy fool. A Roman soldier should be prepared.”
    “I am not well,” Titus said.
    “Do not disobey my order or I will have you hung from the top walls of this prison.” Titus didn’t answer and instead gathered up his spear and put his helmet on as he joined the group. He walked behind them as they left the barracks and waited for an opportunity to escape. It came when he hid behind some brush.
    Titus delayed several moments before peering out and then seized his opportunity. He raced the remaining steps back to the fortress and bribed the guards at the gate. He returned inside to find the soldiers were still sleeping.
    He crept up the stairs until he came to the top floor where they agreed to meet and plan their attack. “Wake up, it is time for our hunt,” he said.
    The four soldiers looked up and held out their hands.
    “You will receive your silver when we kill the widow and drag her body back here for a showing,” said Titus.
    He sharpened his spear for good measure against a wall, taking a moment to relish the sparks that flickered from the friction. “Wear your most defensive armor,” he demanded.
    “Sir,” one of the soldiers said, “you talk about killing. I thought this was not a military mission.”
    “Is the silver not enough for you?”
    “I have no silver in my hands, sir,” the soldier said.
    “You will get it when our mission is done,” Titus promised.
    The tallest Roman stood up. “With respect, sir, I say this. This is not common among our orders. If this is not a military mission, I do not understand why we are bringing so many weapons to arrest the Jewish woman. We are taking her prisoner. Are we not?”
    Titus glared, slamming his spear against the side of the prison wall. “I will decide whether it is my right to kill or keep her alive. A great Roman soldier is always prepared for the worst.”
    The soldier gave him a puzzled look. “She is just a widow. Why is she so dangerous? Does she have weapons like us?”
    Titus grabbed the soldier’s arm, twisting it backward. “What makes you think she is not dangerous?”
    “She is just a Jew, a woman, a widow, a peasant.”
    Titus released his grip and shouted, “Come with me. I will show you what they did to my brother, a Roman soldier.”
    The soldier cowered in the corner.
    “Let him be,” said Titus. “We do not need sheep in our flock.” He laughed and led the other three past several tall marble stanchions. “Over here,” he yelled. He gestured to the corner of the grounds. “My brother, your brother, a Roman who risked his life for us in many battles,” Titus said, kneeling. His brother lay in a decorated, well-cut casket. Marcus was clothed in the best attire and wore a helmet.
    “Come closer,” said Titus, standing.
    As the three surrounded the casket, Titus lifted up the center of Marcus’ vest and the soldiers gasped. “Tell me, my fellow Romans, do you now doubt my claim that my brother was murdered?”
    “Vengeance will be ours,” he said as he covered Marcus back up. He turned and led the soldiers away. “Do not be deceived,” he added. “This could be a dangerous mission. The widow might have friends and neighbors to defend her. When