From the first, Pontius Pilatus revealed a fascination (a morbid fascination, in his wife's view and, I confess, my own) with the plague of wild-eyed, self-proclaimed 'messiahs' that infest this stressful moment in Jewish history. Almost every day another rabble-rousing preacher staggers in from the desert, followed by a ragged retinue of zealots drawn from the unwashed, the unwanted, the lost, the desperate, the gullible, the vulnerable, and the discontent-all seeking to magnify their miserable existences by association with things eternal and miraculous. This epidemic of rustic rabbis, with their simplistic philosophy and folksy adages, gives the Jewish religious establishment and the Roman occupiers a rare opportunity for cooperation, for the priests resent the devotion and enthusiasm that the uneducated Wad lavishes on these fanatics, and the Romans see them as foci for social unrest in a population already dangerously unstable. Have you not noticed how shared dislikes and fears bind men much more tightly than do shared interests and affections? Something to do with Human Nature, that catchall term for our baseness of appetite and paucity of spirit.

But for all that Pontius recognized the danger in these fanatics, he was fascinated by them. He once likened this blend of fascination and repulsion to a time when, as a child, he had seen a dog crushed under a wagon wheel. The sight had disgusted him, yet he could not tug his eyes away. These zealots risked being crushed by those in power, both Roman and Jewish, yet they faced the prospect eagerly, with a ghastly appetite for martyrdom. I pointed out to my lord the logical inconsistency of a man who took pride in the cool rationality of the Roman nobleman, yet who was attracted to the passionate, the insane, the seething cauldrons of the emotions. He laughed this off, but I wondered if there were not, at some depth within him, an envy of these 'messiahs'... a desire to feel something so deeply, to want something so much that he would suffer and even die for it.

He had ample opportunity to indulge his morbid interest in these fanatic preachers soon after our arrival in Jerusalem, for zeal and sedition seethed in every corner of the city. He had come to stiffen the small garrison with his personal presence, making a more telling show of his entry into the city by thickening his handful of reinforcements with his wife and her handmaidens and slaves, and his own retinue which included concubines, servants, scribes, and your humble servant, an aged rogue-philosopher who served, depending on his master's mood, as his adversary in rhetorical exercises, his confidant, his entertainer, his adviser, and his clown. Keeping the peace in Judaea (or rather, keeping disorder within acceptable limits, for my master well understood the need for a periodic controlled release of steam, lest the cauldron explode) required no small portion of bluff and nerve, for he had only three thousand Roman soldiers to control more than three and a half million Jews. Adroit political navigation would be required if his minute show of force were to restrain the hundreds of thousands of pilgrims who visited Jerusalem during Passover each year, all smouldering with religious fervor and tinder-dry for insurrection.

It is little wonder that my master was depressed and thorny-tempered this evening and little able to endure the company of gruff, shallow-minded soldiers. Shifting from my role as counselor to that of entertainer, I sought to lift his spirits. "My lord is weary with the burdens of state. Working with these Israelites is particularly sapping, for nothing is more draining than pushing against an immovable boulder. Perhaps I could arrange something refreshing? Something young and... ah... rejuvenating?"

"No, no, I'm not in the mood."

"They can be amusing, these local women. Eager, flexible, inventive, and above all grateful, for their men are often too occupied with quarreling over minor points of scriptural interpretation to gratify their not inconsiderable appetites. Perhaps this explains why so many of them seek sapphist consolation. Or perhaps it is merely-"

But the Procurator was not to benefit from my insight into the causes of this tribadistic proclivity, for there was a disturbance at the great doors connecting the Praetorium of the Castle of Antonia to the temple of Jerusalem, and the officer-of-the-guard strode across the stone floor with a hard-heeled gait, his body armor rattling with self-importance. He came to attention before the Procurator. "Sir!"

Pilatus looked up wearily. "Can you not see that we are dining?"

"Yes, sir! I see that, sir!"

"Then, if this is something that can wait..."

"They're demanding to see you, sir!"

Pilatus's eyes widened slightly. "Demanding?"

"Well... that is... they are requestingto see you, sir. It's a delegation from the San-hed-rin." These last syllables had just been memorized.

The Procurator raised his eyebrows at me.

"A religious high court of sorts, my lord," I explained. "Rome has allowed them a certain amount of self-government in matters of slight importance: religious rituals, local festivals, dietary peculiarities, marketplace customs-that sort of thing."

"Hmm. And what does it want of me, this Sanhedrin?"

"They've brought a prisoner for you to judge, sir," the officer-of-the-guard said. "It has to do with one of the 'oiled ones'."

"The 'oiled ones?" Pilatus said. "How long have you been out here, young man?"

"Too long, sir."

"Like all of us. But evidently not long enough to be familiar with one of the most common phenomena of the streets. They are called the 'anointed ones', not the 'oiled ones', although it's true that they're anointed with oil. That's what gives us the Greek word for them: the 'cristos'. I believe there's also a word in Hebrew." He glanced towards me.

" 'Messiah', sire. It means the same thing: an anointed one."

"Ah yes, 'messiah'." He turned to the officer-of-the-guard. "Very well, you may tell them I shall consider their petition after I have dined. They may come back in two or three hours."

But the guard officer hovered. "It... ah... it seems to be a most pressing matter, sir. They deman-request to speak to you right now."

Pilatus released a martyred sigh. "Oh, very well. How many are there?"

"A whole gaggle of them, sir."

"A gaggle, eh? Well, that isimpressive. Inform your... gaggle... that I will receive a deputation of three of the cleanest of them."

The guard officer shifted uneasily.

"What now?" Pilatus asked, his patience thinning.

"I'm afraid you will have to go to them, sir. They await you on the steps leading down to the temple."

"Imust go to them?"

"Yes, sir. It has to do with... well, with bread, sir."

"Bread?!"

The guard officer stared straight ahead, only a shift of his eyes betraying his nervousness.

I cleared my throat. "I believe I understand the problem, my lord. They hold us-and indeed even this room in which we dine-to be 'unclean'."

"We are unclean? Now there's the pot slandering the kettle! These Jews never had two baths in the same year before we arrived to set them an example."

"Unclean in the ritualistic sense, my lord." Pulling a comically grave face and dropping my voice to a theatrical tremor, I said, "You see, sir, we are guilty of harbouring-dare I speak the horrid words?-leavened breadin this place."

"Leavened bre-! The Gods grant me patience!" Then he chuckled. "Oh, very well, tell them this unclean eater of leavened bread will join them shortly."

"Sir!" And the officer-of-the-guard departed with martial clatter and stamp.

"Oiled ones!" Claudia Procula said with a shudder of distaste. "Filthy, hollow-eyed fanatics holding the mindless masses in their hypnotic sway. I am told that the desert fairly teems with them. To what do we owe this sudden infestation of... what is it the locals call them?"