“Here, fisherman, wear this. You will be undercover as a Nazirite.” Eleazar extended a cilice made of coarse camel wool to Simon.

“These suckers in the Sanhedrin are fussing all night to deal with one crazy man!” Esau was agitated. “Hope to make it in time before the changing of the guard.” Esau spewed a new curse towards the judges in the Sanhedrin and walked away. He pressed himself to the wall and carefully peeked to see whether there was anything suspicious.

All was quiet; all was calm—a deserted road, villas, a cypress grove in the mist of the melting morning fog.

“You see, fisherman, you returned to us after all,” Eleazar said. “Thank me for agreeing to your persuasion. Do you think that I want to free your Jesus?” Eleazar smiled. “No, I don’t need Jesus. I need the Romans, their nasty lives! But it won’t be a huge misfortune if in killing a few Romans we save one Jew—right, fisherman? And, also, do you know why I like this raid? I like its audacity to kill Romans in Upper City—near Pilate’s residence!

“Come on, fisherman. Move!” Eleazar smacked Simon on the shoulder and stepped aside.

Simon was changing clothes. He took off his shirt, leaving only his linen band around the hips. He wrapped a leather cord around himself and tied it into a knot on his chest. His shoulders were set and firm, and with precise movements gave away a person who engaged in heavy physical labor for many years.

Then he took out the dagger from the bag and put it through the loop in a way that it became nestled under the left armpit. He threw on the cilice and was ready. Now he looked like a Nazirite.

Esau, the lookout, turned around and waved to them that everything is fine and they can come out.