Simon bar Jonah carried a dead man's last words in a bag on his shoulder. Inside lay a scroll of the Nazarene's teachings, and he had sworn to bring it to the believers who met in secret beyond the Roman patrols. He had walked two days. Now the road ahead had gone quiet, and quiet on this road meant soldiers. He crested a low rise and saw them. Four Roman soldiers stood at a bend, stopping every traveler. They opened baskets. They shook out blankets. One held a cart driver by the collar and shouted a question Simon already knew. Where is the scroll? Simon's mouth went dry. If they found it on him, they would kill him on the spot. He could not run. Running told them everything. A woman worked in a garden beside the road. She knelt among tall leaves and bright blossoms, a lush arrangement that spilled over a low wall. Her hands moved through the plants with easy care. A huge grey dog lay at her feet, still as stone, watching Simon with pale, unblinking eyes. She looked up. Her face was warm, but her eyes were sharp. She had seen the soldiers too. She had seen his fear. "You're carrying something," she said softly. Not a question. Simon froze. The dog rose to its feet. "They'll search you," she went on. "They search everyone today." She held out one hand. "Give it to me." He should have run. He should have trusted no one. But the soldiers were close now, and her calm was the only calm on the whole road. He pulled the scroll from his shoulder bag and pressed it into her palm. She tucked it under the plants, deep among the roots and leaves, and smoothed the soil flat. Then she plucked a spade and pushed it into his hands. "You're my hired man. Dig." Simon knelt and dug. His heart slammed. The dog sat between him and the road like a wall of grey fur. Boots crunched close. A soldier stopped at the wall. He looked at Simon, at the woman, at the flowers. "You. Traveler. Papers." "He works for me," the woman said. She did not stop weeding. "Since spring." The soldier stared at the dog. The dog stared back and did not blink. The soldier's hand drifted from his sword. He looked at the empty garden bag on the wall, at the dirt on Simon's hands, and decided it wasn't worth it. "Keep him off the road," the soldier said, and moved on. Simon breathed again only when the boots faded. The woman brushed soil from the scroll and handed it back. "They'll come to this house next," she said. "They search the homes after the road. You can't stay, and I can't keep it." She looked toward her door. "My husband is a tax man. He works for them."