“Do as he says, men,” Cornelius commanded, dropping his sword. “But what do you want?” he asked the highwaymen’s leader again. He had decided that the safest course would be to pretend that he knew nothing of the rebel group, that ruthless party of guerrilla-fighting revolutionaries known as Zealots who had sworn not to rest until every imperialist Roman had been vanquished from their nation’s soil. “We have brought little money,” he said casually. “We aren’t Jews, you know; we aren’t going up to Jerusalem to purchase animals for the Passover sacrifices.”

The centurion’s thrust at the Israelites seemed to incense the fellow. “No, you mongrel of a Roman,” he roared, “nor would your sacrifice be acceptable to Israel’s God were you of a mind to offer it! Now get down, all you Romans! We’re taking your horses. But you and your woman, Herod, stay where you are. We’re taking you with us for ransom, and if the money isn’t quickly forthcoming to redeem you”—he tugged at his flaring dirt-caked beard and once again laughed uproariously—“we’ll skin you and one dark night pin your worthless hides to the door of old Herod’s Palace.” But quickly his demeanor changed again. He turned to glare at his comrades. “Get down there and pick up their weapons,” he commanded, “and mount the horses. We’ve got to be getting back into the hills. And you, Bildad and Achbor, I’ll hold you accountable for the Tetrarch. Dysmas and Cush, you take charge of the woman.” His sneering countenance softened into an evil grinning. “And see that no harm comes to her. I may wish myself to examine her seductive charms.”

Antipas sat staring stonily ahead, his countenance a frozen mask of fear. But anger added a flush to the cheeks of the frightened Tetrarchess. She did not venture, however, to challenge the man’s insulting remark.

The revolutionaries scampered like sure-footed mountain goats down from the rocks and quickly assembled the swords that Cornelius’ soldiers had thrown to the ground. The leader, who had stayed in his position atop an overjutting boulder, watched eagle-eyed along with several of his band who had continued to stand guard. “Issachar, you and Nadab see to the weapons those frightened dogs have thrown down,” he called. “See that not one remains to them when we’re gone. Now, Achbor and you, Bildad, get started with the Tetrarch, and let the woman follow. Men, mount the horses”—he paused an instant to watch one of his men who was having trouble getting into the saddle—“all you who know how to ride a horse ... and Coz, you don’t, I see.”

“But you can’t get away into the rocks with these horses. You have our swords; why don’t you leave us the horses...?”

“And let you fly into Jerusalem and have old Pilate’s soldiers combing through the hills for us? Oh, no, Roman dog, we aren’t fools. You’ll stand in your tracks until we’re gone, or we’ll come charging back and slit your throats and leave you here for the vultures to clean your bones.” He suddenly whirled about, for from behind him came the sound of men running through the rocks back from the road.

“Romans! Romans!” Cornelius heard someone shouting in Aramaic. “Fly! Roman soldiers!” In the next instant a bearded, coarse fellow burst into view above the deep-cut trail. “We can’t stand against them, Bar Abbas; there are too many of them!” he shouted. “We’d better get across the road and into those rocks!” He looked down and spied his companions and their captured party. “The Romans!” he yelled. “Fly men! There are too many for us to fight them!”

“Fly!” yelled the gang’s leader. “Go out through that ravine!” He pointed. “Get yourselves lost in the rocks, and hurry!” He turned to the man who had just rushed up to him. “How many did there appear to be, Hamor?”

“Many. I could not count them. We speared several before they discovered us....”

“Fools! If you’d held your peace and stayed under cover, they wouldn’t have known you were there. Now you’ve caused us to be flushed out. By the beard of the High Priest, Hamor, haven’t I warned you...?”

“But we thought there were only a handful....”

“Through that way!” Bar Abbas turned his back toward the road and was signaling the revolutionaries racing toward him. Cornelius, who since his first sight of the burly fellow had suspected he was the notorious Zealot marauder, couldn’t see the fleeing Israelites, but he could hear their sandals slapping against the loose stones. And close behind them—he was able distinctly to distinguish the sound of their heavy boots crunching the gravel and scattering the pebbles—came the pursuing legionaries of his flanking file on the west.

Already the assailants in the defile of the road were fleeing. Some clambered up the steep sides of the little ravine that opened into the gulch of the roadway and disappeared into the sheltering boulders above; others ran down the road to the end of the canyon and turned eastward; several went the other way along the narrow trail and then turned off in the same direction the others had taken. But before they had all cleared the road, Bar Abbas and his companions on the boulders above, still clutching their spears, had dropped into the defile and without a glance toward their now liberated prisoners had scampered into the converging ravine.

Hardly had the burly Bar Abbas disappeared before the pursuing Romans were plunging into the boulders beside the road. In another moment several of them were peering down into the narrow roadway. In that same instant Cornelius, looking up, spied Decius. “Here!” the centurion called out. “Down that way!” He pointed. “Hurry!”

“Cornelius, by all the gods, you aren’t going to let them get away, are you!” screamed Herodias, having suddenly found her voice.

“But, my dear Herodias”—Antipas turned ponderously in his saddle to face his spouse—“certainly the centurion knows what....”

“Hah! The Tetrarch has come to life! He speaks, now that Bar Abbas and his revolutionaries have fled,” she observed sneeringly.

“Bar Abbas,” Cornelius said, ignoring the Tetrarchess and Herod, as Decius and several of his detachment clambered down into the road. “They pounced on us from the rocks there”—he pointed—“and had us disarmed. I was hoping you would hear the commotion.”

“They jumped us the same way, Centurion,” Decius said. “I think they killed two of our men. I left some men with them. We got several of the revolutionaries, though.”

“It’s a poor exchange. But get after him, Decius. Here, Galba, Licinius, Mallius”—Cornelius called out a half dozen of the men who had been in his detachment—“go with them; you saw Bar Abbas; you’ll know him.” Already the men were grabbing up their swords from the pile Bar Abbas’ men had left in their rush to get away. “They were headed east, toward the Wilderness. In a moment they’ll be running into Lucius on the flank over there. If he can turn them back, we’ll have them in a bag. But they may break through him. Stay after them, Decius; get that Bar Abbas, and try to take him alive.” He turned to another of his men. “Livius, take a detachment and go down the road; you saw where the revolutionaries turned off left. Marius, take your squad and go that way”—he pointed up the Jericho road toward Jerusalem—“and run down those that fled in that direction; you saw where they turned off. Follow them. And all of you be careful; we want no more ambushes.” He called out several more names. “You men stay here with me,” he said. “We’ll see that no harm comes to the Tetrarch and his lady.” He smiled wryly as he looked toward Herodias. “We almost didn’t do that awhile ago.” Then he turned again to Decius. “We’re moving out of this trap in here, though,” he said. “We’ll be up there a thousand paces. And hurry, men; it will soon be dark in those rocks.” He signaled for them to be off. “I want that Bar Abbas.”

Less than half an hour later Marius and his men returned. They were leading a manacled Israelite. “We saw only five men,” Marius reported. “Two of them we killed, and this one we cornered between two big rocks. The other two slipped away; we searched, but we’re sure they’re gone now. This fellow is a Galilean, named Gesmas, he says.”

“And you had nobody hurt?” Marius nodded. “Good. Keep a sharp eye on this fellow.” Cornelius pointed. “Livius is coming in. No prisoners, I believe.”

Livius reported that his men had killed or wounded several of the fleeing revolutionaries. He had had only one man cut slightly by an Israelite’s desperately wielded spear; the weapon had grazed the soldier’s shoulder. “We saw no signs of Lucius’ flanking file,” Livius revealed. “They must have been up ahead, and the revolutionaries we were pursuing must have slipped around their rear. They know this country; they simply disappeared like conies into those big rocks. But maybe Lucius intercepted some of those that Decius went after.”

“Look!” One of the Romans pointed. “There’s Decius.” Having moved up from the narrow defile through the boulders, they could see out on both sides of the road. “And he has two prisoners.”

“Yes. And one of them, by all the gods”—Cornelius was straining to see more clearly in the gathering dusk—“is Bar Abbas! Great Jove, he caught the big prize!”

The other Israelite, too, they discovered in a moment, was a much wanted revolutionary, one of Bar Abbas’ principal lieutenants, a Galilean named Dysmas.

Lucius had stayed out on the flank, Decius explained, to prevent any sudden desperate attempt of the Zealots to rescue their leader. They were still no doubt in the rocks back from the road, perhaps regrouping their scattered forces.

“From here into Jerusalem the road is clear, and they won’t be able to prepare any ambush.” The centurion called out four soldiers standing near him. “Go tell Lucius to come in nearer. We can move faster that way, and in the deepening darkness it will be safer for everybody. Tell him we’re starting at once for Jerusalem.” As they were leaving, he turned again to Decius. “See that the prisoners are bound securely, and manacle each one between two of our men. And box them in with guards. Give them no chance of getting away from us or being rescued.”

Herodias had been watching silently but with evident interest. “It seems to me, Centurion,” she observed petulantly, “that you could prevent either eventuality by executing these rebel scum right now.”

“I am a Roman soldier, Tetrarchess. These men have had no trial.”

She pointed to her silent spouse, glumly sitting his horse. “He is the Tetrarch of Galilee and Peraea. These revolutionaries are Galileans. He is the proper one to try them.”