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Esther walking on tiptoes, straining to see over the tops of the heads around her. And then I know.
Daniel
. She’s looking for Daniel! My mouth goes dry. So . . . this is what she’s been waiting for. To reach Zealot territory and find her husband. And if she does, she’ll bolt.
    The area by the Tower Gate is mobbed with people passing in and out. A caravan of ten camels forces us to one side. The noise is deafening. People, animals, all mix together. Ethan told me how it was here. But even seeing it now for myself, it’s hard to believe. The change is so great. The city is swollen with refugees who have fled the scourge of the Romanlegions. Dirty and ragged, with few possessions, most have settled in the New City where the cloth market and wool-shops are—Simon bar Giora’s territory. But there are plenty of refugees here, too, living in flimsy leantos and make-shift hovels of canvas or rush mats or twigs. They cram every open space, even between houses—including those clustered along the wall. The stone seats near the gate, where the elders once sat to hear grievances or gossip or news coming from outside, are also taken by refugees who have nowhere else to go. And bordering the streets are the blind and lame holding wooden bowls and begging alms. And the stench! I can hardly breathe.
    “We must watch Esther,” I whisper to Aaron as we stand beneath the shadow of the Antonia waiting to be inspected by the guards. From outside the nearby gate come the loud cries of lepers who cannot enter the city. “Unclean! Unclean!” they shout from the hovels attached to the massive outside-wall.
    The guards at the Tower Gate seem indifferent to the noise, the stench, the sea of ragged, hungry people as they interrogate us. They take their time, pinching and poking, though they stopped short of running their hands over our bodies. Finally, they examine the ossuary and seem disappointed in not finding any contraband. Reluctantly, they pass us through with the wave of a hand. But I think if Aaron were not with us, and if he were not so tall and looked so strong, they would have charged us a “fee.”
    Just as we are about to step through the gate, Esther shouts, “Daniel! Daniel!”
    “Hush!” I say, in a stern voice.
    Aaron’s head jerks upward. He scans the cluster of rebels peering down at us from one of the four towers. The Antonia is John’s territory. Daniel would not be standing on its walls.
    “Daniel!” she shouts again.
    I yank her hard by the arm. And when a suspicious look clouds the face of one of the guards, I secure my jar in one hand, and opening the other to make a flat palm, I slap Esther’s face as hard as I can.“Shameful behavior! A priest’s daughter chasing after a man like a common strumpet!”
    “Be gentle, Mother,” the guard says with a wink, as we pass through the gate. “She is young.”
    I don’t bother to answer or look back. And God forgive me, I don’t even bother to stop and drop a few coins when I see a leaper push his wooden bowl toward me with the stump of what once was a foot. All my might, all my strength, all my attention is focused on two things—getting Esther away from Jerusalem, and getting her away as quickly as possible. I move at a furious pace, my fear pulling me faster and faster into the Kidron Valley while I pull my reluctant daughter, and Aaron pulls the reluctant donkey. Despite the cool breeze, we are all wet with sweat.
    “You never had any intention of keeping your word, did you?” I hiss, when we have gone a good distance, my hand still locked onto Esther’s arm.
    Drops of perspiration run down the sides of Esther’s ears, and she strains backward, away from my grasp. “Can’t we stop and rest?” she says in a weary voice, the red mark from my hand still visible on her face.
    “What did you expect Daniel to do?” Aaron scolds, coming alongside us with the donkey. “Rescue you? Give you refuge? Go against Father and me?” His face is a