The road to Golgotha is long and arduous. Bewilderment and tension perfuse
through the masses, crowding together, eager to catch a glimpse of the
blood-soaked figure crouched under the crippling weight of a wooden cross. A
Roman centurion, donned in red, kicking up clouds of dust with his sandals,
orders brusquely in churlish Latin, “festina, Nazarene.”