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Antipas, and the high priest. The blocky bulk of the Antonia Fortress, barracks of Roman soldiers, glowered down on the Temple courts to stifle dissent. Worship your Jewish god if you choose , it seemed to say, but know that Caesar is lord .
    For High Priest Caiaphas, over whom the Antonia’s shadow daily fell, this dichotomy of deities was no struggle at all. He, like his father-in-law, the high priest Annas before him, had long since compromised their piety in exchange for wealth and power.
    Our Roman oppressors and their henchmen passed by the walls of Judah’s house many times through the day, coming and going to their own grand mansions. As I emerged from the winding alleyway onto the broad avenue, trumpets proclaimed the procession of Roman cavalry accompanying a nobleman on horseback. I guessed they were on their way to see Governor Pilate.
    Pausing in the shadows, I watched them approach. Pedestrians scrambled out of the way of prancing horses and the hobnailed boots of the foot soldiers.
    The celebrity, a middle-aged man dressed in gold-trimmedrobes, rode a dappled gray horse. The animal was barely under control. Eyes wide with fright at the noise and nostrils flared, the creature danced sideways up the road. Iron-shod hooves sparked on the flagstones. In a glance I knew the horse was not safe to ride. No doubt the man on its back had chosen his mount for pride and the aura of strength and not for manners.
    A fitting metaphor for many things about Rome , I thought.
    I looked toward Judah’s house and spotted movement outside the entry. Was that Judah and Jemima in the street? My friend and his sister were standing beside a cart loaded with oil jugs. I was late. Perhaps they were there watching for my arrival. I waved, catching Judah’s attention.
    As he spotted me, he jumped up on the cart, waving to return my greeting. The rear latch of the cart failed, and five precariously balanced amphorae tumbled out just as the Roman nobleman neared the spot. The containers of oily fluid crashed onto the pavement right in front of the skittish horse. The animal whinnied and reared. Its master tried to control the panic, but iron shoes slipped on oiled stone, and the horse crashed down, throwing the rider against Judah’s wall.
    There was no time to think. I ran toward the injured man. Bodyguards with shields and swords pushed me back, as if I had intended to harm the bloodied rider.
    “They tried to assassinate the ambassador!”
    “Go! Quickly! Arrest them!”
    “Sedition! The house of Judah ben Perez! A rebel!”
    As Judah’s gates crashed open, I tried to explain what had happened, what I had witnessed. “An accident! It was an accident! I’m their guest. They were looking for me. The jugs broke loose! It was not meant to harm.”
    I was beaten into silence by an apelike sergeant who lungedfrom the ranks. He knocked me to the ground with the handle of his javelin, striking me hard on shoulders and head. He continued to hammer me long after I stopped resisting.
    The last thing I remember was the screams of the women inside the gate and the command from the decurion: “Arrest them! A nest of rebels, this House of Perez! Take them all away!” I tried to shield my head as blows continued. And then I passed out.

Chapter 6
    D avid?” Martha’s calm voice was like still waters in my roaring ears. “David? Are you awake, my darling brother?” I squinted into the light as my sister smiled down at me. Pain stabbed through my head. My body ached everywhere.
    “What … happened?” I stammered. The light streaming from the window was too bright, even though my eyes would barely open. “An accident?”
    “A Greek Jew named Porthos brought you home,” she explained.
    “Home? From where?” I struggled to sit up, but she pushed me back on my bed with one finger.
    “From Jerusalem.”
    “From Jerusalem? Why was I in Jerusalem?”
    “You went to visit Judah. And his sister. Do you remember now?”
    “No.” I