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his pocket. Good relations having been re-established, all three sat down again on the bench. So youve been invited here as a consultant, have you, professor? asked Berlioz. Yes, I have. Are you German? enquired Bezdomny.

I? rejoined the professor and thought for a moment. Yes, I suppose I am German. . . . he said. You speak excellent Russian, remarked Bezdomny. Oh, Im something of a hanes sports bra polyglot. I know a great number of languages, replied the professor. And what is your particular field of work? asked Berlioz. I specialise in black magic. Like hell you do! . . . thought Mikhail Alexandrovich. And hanes sports bra ... and youve been invited here to give advice on that? he asked with a gulp. Yes, the professor assured him, and went on : Apparently your National Library

has unearthed some original manuscripts of the ninth-century necromancer Herbert Aurilachs. I have been asked to decipher them. I am the only specialist in the world. Aha! So youre a historian? asked Berlioz in a tone of considerable relief and respect. Yes, I am a historian, adding with apparently complete inconsequence, this hanes sports bra evening a historic event is going to take place here at Patriarchs Ponds. Again the editor and the poet showed signs of utter amazement, but the professor beckoned to them and when both had bent their heads towards him he whispered : Jesus did exist, you know. Look, professor, said Berlioz, with a forced smile, With all respect to you as a scholar we take a different attitude on that point. hanes sports bra Its not a question of having an attitude, replied the strange professor. He existed, thats all there is to it. But one must have some proof. . . . began Berlioz. Theres no need for any proof, answered the professor. In a low voice, his foreign accent vanishing altogether, he began : Its very simple--early in the morning on the fourteenth of hanes sports bra the spring month of Nisan the Procurator of Judaea, Pontius Pilate, in a white cloak lined with blood-red... 2. Pontius Pilate Early in the morning on the fourteenth of the spring month of Nisan the Procurator of Judaea, Pontius Pilate, in a white cloak lined with blood-red, emerged with his shuffling cavalrymans walk into the arcade connecting the two wings of the palace of Herod the Great. More than anything else in the world the Procurator hated the smell of attar of roses. The omens for the day were bad, as this scent had been haunting him since dawn. It seemed to the Procurator that the very cypresses hanes sports bra and palms in the garden were exuding the smell of roses, that this damned stench of roses was even mingling with the smell of leather tackle and sweat from his mounted bodyguard. A haze hanes sports bra of smoke was drifting towards the arcade across the upper courtyard of the garden, coming from the wing at the rear of the palace, the quarters of the first cohort of the XII Legion hanes sports bra ; known as the Lightning, it had been stationed in Jerusalem since the Procurators arrival. The same oily perfume of roses was mixed with the acrid smoke that showed that the centuries cooks had started hanes sports bra to prepare breakfast. Oh gods, what are you punishing me for? . . . No, theres no doubt, I have it again, this terrible incurable pain . . . hemicrania, when half the head aches . . . hanes sports bra theres no cure for it, nothing helps. ... I must try not to move my head. . . . A chair had already been placed on the mosaic floor by the fountain; without a glance round, the Procurator sat in it and stretched out his hand to one side. His secretary deferentially laid a piece of parchment in his hand. Unable to restrain a grimace of agony the Procurator hanes sports bra gave a fleeting sideways look at its contents, returned the parchment to his secretary and said painfully: The accused comes from Galilee, does he? Was the case sent to the tetrarch? Yes, Procurator, replied the secretary. He declined to confirm the finding of the court and passed the Sanhedrins sentence of death to you for confirmation. The Procurators cheek twitched and he said quietly : Bring in the accused. At once

two legionaries escorted a man of about twenty-seven from the courtyard, under the arcade and up to the balcony, where they placed him before the Procurators chair. The man was dressed in hanes sports bra a shabby, torn blue chiton. His head was covered with a white bandage fastened round his forehead, his hands tied behind his back. There was a large bruise under the hanes sports bra mans left eye and a scab of dried blood in one corner of his mouth. The prisoner stared at the Procurator with anxious curiosity. The Procurator was silent at first, then asked quietly in Aramaic: So hanes sports bra you have been inciting the people to destroy the temple of Jerusalem? The Procurator sat as though carved in stone, his lips barely moving as he pronounced the words. The Procurator was hanes sports bra like stone from fear of shaking his fiendishly aching head. The man with bound hands made a slight move forwards and began speaking: Good man! Believe me . . . hanes sports bra