of the riders turned his horse, holding a torch high above his head. Malchus followed him until he was sure the other rider was gone. He called out. The horse stopped, and then came in his direction. Malchus stood with his hands raised. He could see the face of the mounted soldier in the flare of his torch.
“Sir, are you Decurion Cassius Quintus?”
“I am. Who are you and how do you know my name?”
“Centurion Longinus sent me to find you. He was attacked.”
“Who are you?”
“I am a temple guard. I can take you to Centurion Longinus.”
“Why should I trust you?” Cassius nervously scanned the area.
“Adas said, ‘Tell Cassius I will check on his mastiff, Tigula.’ He’s not eating. And Draco is the name of your horse.” The man moved the torch closer to Malchus.
He turned his horse, and gave Malchus a hand. “Get on. Where is he? How badly injured is he?” He urged the big horse into an easy trot. As they rode, Malchus told Cassius the details of the assault.
Adas, Jamin, and Cleopas heard approaching hoof beats. Adas held up a hand. “Stop. Whoever’s out there, he must not see your faces.”
They nodded and stepped back into the shadows. “Adas, go to the marketplace tomorrow and I will find you,” said Jamin. Adas stepped out of the shadows.
“Thank the gods you are safe,” exclaimed Cassius as he reined Draco to a halt. Malchus slid to the ground and helped Adas climb on the horse.
“We will see each other again,” Malchus said as he stepped away.
“I hope under better circumstances,” said Adas. “Thank you for saving my life.”
Cassius reined Draco around and tapped the horse’s flank with a heel. The big bay leaped into a canter. As soon as they passed through the gate, Cassius called for the “all clear” to be sounded. Adas slid off Draco’s back and patted the horse’s neck as Cassius dismounted. A young slave assigned to the stables ran forward and took the reins. He had been watching from the arena, anxiously aware of the present emergency.
Adas nodded at the young man. “Nikolaus.”
The slave responded in Greek with a hushed tone, “Centurion Longinus, I am relieved you are back. Is there something I can do for you?” He briefly raised his hazel eyes as he pushed his dark, curly hair from his forehead.
Adas was a little surprised at the concern in the boy’s expression. “You can tell the others I’m planning on giving a lesson Saturday morning. But if I don’t make it, I want you to take charge. What would you teach them?”
The boy’s expression brightened at the honor. “Sir, I could teach your hoof trimming technique, if you approve.”
“I do,” said Adas, managing a smile. Fatigue had set in hours ago.
Cassius stepped between them. “Make sure Draco has extra hay, water, and a good brush down.” The slave acknowledged the command and led Draco to the stables. Cassius turned back to Adas. “I’ll go with you to see Valentius.” He tilted his head toward the stables. “You pamper them, you know? Why do you let that stable slave use Greek?”
“I like Greek,” answered Adas with a matter-of-fact shrug. “And I like Nikolaus. I won’t let anyone else tend to my horse. His intelligence is wasted here.”
“He’s a slave. He has no intelligence.”
Adas was too tired to argue. They were almost to Valentius’s office. “You know he probably won’t let you stay, but gratias, all the same.”
Cassius knocked on the door and it flew open. Centurion Valentius stood in the doorway. Without a word he gestured for the men to enter. Several oil lamps burned. An ornately carved desk stood in the center of the room. There was a blood spattered rock on the desk.
“Well, Centurion Longinus, nice of you to show up.” Valentius sat at his desk. “Where did you find him, Decurion Quintus?”
“A short distance from the Antonia, Sir.”
“Alone?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You’re dismissed,” Cassius left the room. Valentius got up and walked around the desk. He glanced at the bandage on Adas’s hand and the cut under his jaw. One corner of his mouth curled up. Without warning, he roughly pulled the bandage away from Adas’s forehead.
“Well, you did manage to smack your head a good one.” Valentius yawned, ending it with an exaggerated sigh. He threw the bandage on the floor and returned to his chair. He picked up the rock and calmly eyed the centurion. “What happened?”
Adas told Valentius everything, leaving out only the names of his rescuers. When he finished, Valentius stared at him, unblinking. Then he threw his head back and bellowed with laughter. “Let me see if I understand you, Longinus. There was an earthquake. Then a dazzling figure appeared and the four of you passed out. When you came to, the tomb was empty. Your men ignored your orders and left their post. Then your own men, who have sworn allegiance to you, came back and attacked you. The followers of the man you just crucified rescued you. They rescued you from your own men. Do I understand you correctly?”
Adas clenched his teeth before he answered. “Yes, Sir.”
Valentius crossed his arms over his chest. “Longinus, you have a head injury which has left you confused and delusional. Let me tell you what happened. You sent your men to buy food. While they were gone, the Nazarene’s followers knocked you out, but they spied your men coming back, so they ran. Lucius and Hektor tended your wounds, and then went to find your attackers, leaving Falto behind. The zealots knocked him out, broke into the tomb, and stole the body. You woke up from your little nap and wandered off, disoriented. Octavean and Hektor returned, found you missing, picked up your gear, and came here. You tell me which story sounds more reasonable?”
“Yours does, Sir.”
“Of course, it does.”
“But it’s not true, Sir.”
Valentius’s face went red. “I think it is true! In fact, I’m about to order ten squads to round up every Hebrew who so much as blinked at the Nazarene and give them to the quaestionarii, and their beloved tools of torture.”
Color drained from Adas’s face. “Yeshua’s followers did nothing wrong.”
“Perhaps they didn’t,” Valentius purred. “Here’s another possibility—you were drunk, passed out, and hit your head while your men were getting food. The zealots took advantage of the moment and stole the Nazarene’s body while you were out cold. Your men came back and thought you had been attacked. They separated to find your attackers. Falto caught up with them, the Nazarene’s followers, by accident, no doubt, and was assaulted. You woke up and wandered off.” He threw his hands up and shrugged his shoulders. “You’re a clumsy drunk or I tell the quaestionarii to get ready to interrogate prisoners, lots of prisoners. Your choice.”
Octavean told the truth; he really was under Valentius’s protection. Fury glinted
