The uncertainty of everything made him grow angry again at Elizabeth. Turning to her, he whispered, "Why didn't you listen to me? Why did you go in this forsaken tunnel and scare me? Do you know what my life would be like without you? Do you?"

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed. "I wanted to see what was down here. There were all sorts of great drawings all along the tunnel." To make her point, she shone the light on the side of the wall, illuminating pictures of men being pulled in chariots.

"Interesting."

"Interesting? I thought you loved history? Look at this one." Elizabeth turned toward the other side and sprayed the wall with her penlight.

Michael bent down to get a closer look. "It looks like a soldier putting a spear through a man's heart," he said, revolted.

"That's what I thought."

Michael rubbed his hand along the wall. "That's odd. This feels like it was drawn recently." He looked up again to the street. "It looks so real." Then he turned and looked back at the darkness of the tunnel behind them. "We should go back."

But his attention was drawn to the crowd above them. They could hear gasping and shouts as a man was dragged by a soldier through the streets. The man's robe was bloodied and torn, and he had shackles around his ankles. He was badly bruised, with a large, bleeding gash in his right shoulder.

Michael was a big fan of history. It was probably the only subject in school that he had really enjoyed. He was always fascinated by famous people and events from the past. It showed in his schoolwork—it was the one subject he didn't have to worry about repeating in summer school. He stared in awe.

"Wow, Elizabeth. Look at the metal spears. They look so real. These guys totally look like they're Roman soldiers from those documentaries I watch."

"They're just veils." Michael laughed nervously. This was almost too real. He glanced over at Elizabeth and saw her mouth drop. She covered her eyes and looked away.

"What's wrong?"

She pointed through the grate. Three soldiers had gotten off their horses and were poking the man in chains with their spears. The roar of the crowd grew louder.

Michael again felt a surge of panic but tried to keep his tone light. "It's just playacting." He craned his neck to get a better look and saw one soldier stab the man in the leg, causing him to scream in pain as blood gushed from the wound. The other two soldiers started beating him on the back with the shafts of their spears.

"No!" Elizabeth yelled before Michael could put his hand over her mouth.

"Shh!"

She pulled away from him. "Dad, we've got to do something!"

The soldiers hit the man in his back and legs repeatedly. He lay on the ground trying to cover his head with his hands.

"It looks real to me."

Michael felt helpless. "What kind of play is this anyway? I can't believe the town approved this kind of street play. I'm sure the cops are going to stop it. Those people out there should be doing something. But they're all standing around like nothing is going on."

"We're doing nothing, too, Dad!"

"Quiet, Elizabeth!" Michael hissed as he put his hand up to her mouth.

But Elizabeth slapped his hand away and pushed forward against the metal grate. Its frame cracked slightly. To Michael, the crowd outside seemed to be getting louder and the soldiers' laughter more defined. "No, Elizabeth, stop. Please stop pushing!"

"I have to help, Dad. I have to help him!"

With one last thrust, the grate broke free of its frame, falling out onto the road above. Elizabeth pushed against Michael, hoisting herself through the opening, and dropping her miniature flashlight pen. Getting to her feet quickly, she ran over to the bloodied man.

Michael grunted as he pulled himself up onto the road. "Elizabeth, stop!"

He ran over to Elizabeth and grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the bleeding man. "Sir, are you okay? We need to get you some medical attention."

He turned toward the crowd. "Someone should really call 911!" he shouted, exasperated.

Several soldiers surrounded them, one of whom pulled Elizabeth away from the man.

"Get your hands off my daughter," Michael screamed.

* Koine Greek, a language spoken by the Romans and others in first-century Jerusalem.

Translation = Silence!

"What?" Michael muttered. "Who are you? What is going on here? This guy is seriously hurt!"

"Stop! Please don't hurt her!" Michael screamed.

"What . . . what did you say?" implored Michael as he was pushed to the ground.

"Dad!" said Elizabeth weakly as the soldier continued to press his spear near her neck.

Michael reached up with his left hand, grasping at the spear, his ring sparkling in the sunlight. The soldier relaxed his stance slightly and leaned over, grabbing his hand. He pulled at Michael's ring.

"No," he shouted at the soldier.

The soldier pressed his spear with one hand against Elizabeth's shoulder and reached for the ring with the other. Still unable to comprehend the soldier's demands, Michael hesitated. The soldier took his spear away from Elizabeth and jabbed at Michael's hand, gesturing at the gold ring.

"No," Michael said, shaking his head. "Not my ring. Please."

The soldier swung his spear wildly around, whipping it past Elizabeth's face.

"Okay, okay, whatever you want." Michael looked at the ring quickly, kissed it, and slowly slid it off his finger. "I'm sorry . . . I'm so sorry," he whispered.

He weakly reached up to give the ring to the soldier, who seized it violently. Suddenly a big gust of wind bent the fig trees in the distance

† Translation = Answer!

tossing the fruit in the air and whipping up the dust from the ground. The onlookers in the crowd covered their faces while the soldiers cowered sideways, putting their shields up to protect against the thrashing particles of dirt. Some fell to the ground, coughing, gagging from the soil that was filling their throats and ears. Michael lowered his head to avoid the swirling dust, expecting any moment that he, too, would begin to choke.

A moment later, he glanced over at Elizabeth in surprise. He actually felt fine. A feeling of warmth embraced him, and he found himself breathing normally. Elizabeth nodded at him. She seemed to be having the same experience, while all around them soldiers dropped to the ground, wheezing, and some vomiting. Michael felt as if he were floating, yet his feet remained firmly planted on the ground. The pinging of the sand against their faces didn't sting at all; instead, he found it soothing.

The wind died down as suddenly as it had started, and the swirling dust in the air settled. The soldiers, grimacing and gasping, staggered to their feet and looked around in wonder. Still clutching the ring in his hand, the one soldier wiped furiously at his eyes and assumed hismenacing stance.

"How would you like your daughter to watch you die?" he asked clearly.

Michael was stunned. He looked at Elizabeth and saw that suddenly she, too, could understand the soldiers words.

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