“Is he dead?” the centurion asked.

Joshua was blinking as if he’d just been awakened from a deep sleep. “We’re never sure, sir,” I said.

The centurion threw his head back and laughed. His scale armor rattled with the tossing of his shoulders. He was older than the other soldiers, gray-haired, but obviously lean and strong, and totally unconcerned with the histrionics of the crowd. “Good answer, boy. What is your name?”

“Biff, sir. Levi bar Alphaeus, who is called Biff, sir. Of Nazareth.”

“Well, Biff, I am Gaius Justus Gallicus, under-commander of Sepphoris, and I think that you Jews should make sure your dead are dead before you bury them.”

“Yes sir,” I said.

“You, girl. You are a pretty little thing. What is your name?”

I could see that Maggie was shaken by the attention of the Roman. “I am Mary of Magdala, sir.” She wiped at Joshua’s brow with the edge of her shawl as she spoke.

“You will break someone’s heart someday, eh, little one?”

Maggie didn’t answer. But I must have shown some reaction to the question, because Justus laughed again. “Or perhaps she already has, eh, Biff?”

“It is our way, sir. That’s why we Jews bury our women when they are still alive. It cuts down on the heartbreak.”

The Roman took off his helmet, ran his hand over his short hair, and flung sweat at me. “Go on, you two, get your friend into the shade. It’s too hot out here for a sick boy. Go on.”

Maggie and I helped Joshua to his feet and began to lead him away, but when we had gone only a few steps, Joshua stopped and looked back over his shoulder at the Roman. “Will you slay my people if we follow our God?” he shouted.

I cuffed him on the back of the head. “Joshua, are you insane?”

Justus narrowed his gaze at Joshua and the smile went out of his eyes. “Whatever they tell you, boy, Rome has only two rules: pay your taxes and don’t rebel. Follow those and you’ll stay alive.”