Late in the afternoon of the Jews’ Sabbath the Procurator Pontius Pilate stood face to face once again with the High Priest Joseph Caiaphas.

“My visit to you, Excellency, and the petition I bring,” he began, “concern that impostor and revolutionary you crucified yesterday, the one who was seeking to establish himself upon the restored throne of Israel.”

“But the man is dead and buried,” Pilate spoke up irritably. “Can’t you let him lie quietly in his tomb? Can’t you understand that I wish to have no further mention made to me of that Galilean?”

“Indeed I do understand, Excellency. That’s exactly what we also wish, to allow him to lie quietly and undisturbed until his body rots and his name is forgotten.” He leaned forward, and his black eyes lighted with new fires. “But, Excellency, as you may have been told, that blasphemer was heard to declare that he would destroy our Temple and in three days with his own hands rebuild it. Now some of his deluded followers are saying that he wasn’t speaking of the Temple yonder”—he nodded in the direction of the great structure—“but rather of his own physical body. They interpret his words as meaning that he would of his own accord give his life and then on the third day claim it again and walk forth from his tomb. Of course, Excellency, we know that the fellow is dead and will never rise again”—with the tip of his tongue he licked his thin red lips—“but many naÏve ones may be deluded into believing that he really did possess power to call back his life. Even today a report has reached us that certain of his followers are planning in the nighttime to visit the tomb and steal away the body. Then with the tomb empty on the morrow, which will be the third day since he died, they can publish abroad the tidings that the blasphemer really did arise as he had declared he would do.”

“But how am I concerned in this nonsense?” Pilate was plainly annoyed. “What do you want me to do?”

“We would have you set a guard over the fellow’s tomb, Excellency, to see that no one steals away the body.”

“What’s this but children’s prattle? Surely no one would seriously expect a dead man to walk from his tomb.” Slowly Pilate’s scowl gave way to a mocking half-smile. “What would the High Priest do if the Galilean did rise? You contrived his crucifixion.”

“But what, Excellency, would the Procurator do? You crucified him.”

Pilate was not amused by the High Priest’s retort. “Maybe it’s as well,” he observed, “that neither of us will be so tested.” For a moment he was silent, looking away. Then he turned back to face Caiaphas. “You have your Temple guards. Can’t you use some of them to guard that tomb?”

“But, Excellency, with the great surge of Passover pilgrims still in the Temple courts and about the cattle stalls and the money changers’ tables, our guards are all greatly needed. And, more important, your placing a guard would lend greater prestige....”