“I take it Herod was unsympathetic to your plan, Caiaphas? Fortune did not smile on you at Herod’s palace?”
“The Tetrarch says he has doubts.”
“Of course he does. Herod is not a complete fool. After his idiotic beheading of your prophet, the Baptizer, he has learned caution. I should think one martyr notched on his belt would be enough.”
“I did as you required of me, Prefect. Now I am back with the request I made earlier.”
“And that was? My memory is not what it used to be.”
Caiaphas gritted his teeth. “This man mocks Caesar, threatens the Temple, disobeys your demand there be no disturbances during Passover. He is a known heretic and blasphemer. He must die that others will not be tempted to do the same.”
“You wish me to crucify this man? Is that the essence of the thing? To do that is a very serious business. I believe I should examine this dangerous person before assigning him a cross.”
Yeshua was pushed forward. Pilate stood close to him and glared. If it was an attempt to intimidate, it failed.
“Iesus Nazarenus, Rex Iudaeorum. Do you know what that means, King? No? In the civilized tongue of Rome, it means ‘Yeshua of Nazareth, King of the Jews.’ Your High Priest says you claim to be the King of the Jews.”
Pilate pivoted around on his heel and faced the assembled Roman contingent.
“He says he is a King. He needs the proper costume. Bring him a robe and a crown.”
Two Legionnaires disappeared and returned with a filthy purple robe and a crown which had long, sharp, protruding thorns. The robe was draped over Yeshua’s shoulders and the crown pressed down on his head. Some of the thorns pierced his forehead, causing it to bleed.
“Now you look like a proper King. You are a King, then?” Pilate circled Yeshua, pulling at the wrinkles on the purple robe and giving the crown an extra downward push.
Yeshua stared at Pilate with black fathomless eyes and responded, “Is this nonsense your idea or are you just repeating someone else’s?”
Pilate flinched, taken aback by Yeshua’s insolence. His eyes flashed.
“The King is defiant. Tell me, King, why are you creating so much trouble? You understand, these men here want me to put you to death?”
“I came to testify to the truth.”
“Oh? Tell me, what is truth? We’d all like to know that. So, perhaps you will tell us.”
Pilate turned back to Caiaphas.
“High Priest, this man is annoying, but I find no crime here. Your Antipas doesn’t either. He is impudent and clearly unrepentant for whatever you accuse him of, but I cannot crucify someone because you think he might get you in trouble with that ridiculous god of yours.”
“Prefect, he must die,” Caiaphas said softly.
“Must you say? You are mistaken. There is no must. Rome is known for its sense of justice.”
“He mocks Caesar. He caused a riot in the Temple. You said that anyone who—”
“Well, yes, there is that to consider. I tell you what I can do…for the acts of disrespect and the riot in the Temple…a flogging. Guard, the scourge.”
The guard retrieved the whip and twirled it around his head. It sounded like someone had knocked over a wasp nest.
Jesus was stripped of his purple cloak, his robe, and tunic. His hands, still bound, were fastened around a pillar.
“How many, sir?” the man with the whip asked.
“How many? Three should do it.”
“Three lashes?”
“No, idiot, not three lashes,—three sets. Three sets of thirteen.”
The man who wielded the whip did so with great expertise. He flicked his wrist at precisely the right moment. Instead of simply laying down a set of stripes, the stones fastened to the ends of the scourge’s leather strips raked across Yeshua’s flesh. Six lashes and his back was torn and bleeding. After a dozen, it was laid bare. At the twentieth stroke, he slumped against his ropes. The beating continued for the full thirty-nine. The scourge dripped blood, its wielder with sweat. A guard cut Jesus’ bonds and he crumpled to the ground.
“Get him up,” Pilate snapped. “Get the King on his feet and get him out of here.”
A legionnaire brought a pail of water and poured it over him. Two others grabbed him by the arms and hauled him to his feet. The dirty purple robe was thrown over him. It darkened with blood.
“Stop. Prefect, this will not do. This man must be put to death.”
“What is it with you people? A thorough flogging not enough?”
Caiaphas drew in a breath. Then, with all the dignity he could muster, he faced Pilate.
“You have your duty, Prefect, I have mine. This man threatens the whole of the Nation. I am fully aware of what you think of our worship and practices. But I say to you we have been faithful to the Lord since the beginning of memory. We have worshipped him in the high places when your ancestors were still turning over rocks looking for food. Whatever you may think of us, we are not a bloodthirsty people. The covenant calls us to obedience and we know if we stray from it, the Lord will punish us. This man presents himself as the son of the Lord, the one who may not be named. It is a blasphemy. It is dangerous and it will, if not put to an end by you, bring trouble to both our Nations”
“Ah, I see. He thinks he’s a god. Tell me, High Priest, what King doesn’t? Indeed, what god hasn’t had offspring by some willing mortal?”
Rufus cleared his throat.
Pilate turned toward him and winked. “It will be fine, you will see, my friend.”
Turning back to the High Priest, he added, “Very well, we will put the intricacies of gods who would be men and vice-versa to the side for now. Let us understand each other. I will crucify this man for you, but if I do this thing for you, you will be in my debt.”
“Yes, Prefect.”
“Deeply in my debt. I can expect you to guarantee certain things are done by your people on time and as requested?”
Caiaphas swallowed. “Yes, as you say.”
Rufus stepped forward, took Pilate by the arm, and walked him to the back of the plaza
“This will get back to Rome. The letters, Pilate. A crucifixion on one of the people’s holiest days, you dare not do it.”
“But, don’t you see? It will put an end to the Tribune’s mission here. Besides, I am not going to pass judgment on this man—they are.” He strode back toward Caiaphas.
“Guards, bring up Barabbas. Oh, and fix him up with a King’s robe, as well. We don’t want to be seen as playing favorites. Caiaphas, instruct your people to move closer.”
Caiaphas spoke to his guards. People massed at the foot of the steps. Two guards dragged out a kicking and cursing Barabbas. The soldiers told him to be still or die. Another purple robe was produced and thrown over his shoulders.
“Bring him out here to join his countryman. Put one on my right and one on my left.”
Yeshua and Barabbas were led to the front of the platform.
“Caiaphas, I am about to relieve you of any possible repercussions coming to you for what you have done to your rabbi.”
Turning to the crowd, he raised his hands for silence. “People of Jerusalem, both of these men have been found guilty of crimes so serious, they require the death penalty.” He paused for effect. “But it is your Passover and Rome would show mercy. We have a tradition on such important days, that one prisoner shall be set free, do we not?”
The crowd stirred. Caiaphas and the Temple officials frowned, the Tribune and Cassia with them. What tradition? No one had ever heard of such a tradition.
“However, it is difficult for me to choose between these two dangerous men, so I give the choice to you. Which would you have me free?”
He pointed to Barabbas. “Shall it be Yeshua Barabbas?” He slurred the ‘bar’ but said Yeshua loudly and clearly, Yeshua bar Abba…sss. As Pilate was not a Hebrew speaker, his pronunciation lacked definition. If you didn’t listen carefully, it could have been heard as Yeshua, som
ething.
“Or shall it be this man, Iesus Nazarenus, Rex Iudaeorum?”
Few, if any in the crowd spoke Latin and Pilate knew it. All they heard was something akin to “Yeshua, mumble-mumble” followed by a name that made no sense. The two men far above them on the platform were both bowed and beaten. Of the two, Barabbas appeared to be in better shape. After a pause, the followers of Barabbas, seeing their chance, shouted, “Yeshua Barabbas.” Others, prompted by Caiaphas and his lieutenants followed suit. A few mistakenly believed they were calling for Rabbi Yeshua when they joined in.
“Yeshua Barabbas, Yeshua Barabbas!”
“You have chosen this man, Barabbas. So be it. Let him go.”
Barabbas, stunned by the turn of events, watched in amazement, as his hands were untied and his dirty royal robe stripped from him. He raced down the steps into the arms of his supporters and disappeared into the crowd.
“What shall I do to the other?” Pilate looked at the High Priest and nodded.
Again he waited. Caiaphas, catching his drift, shouted, “Crucify him.” His people repeated it and soon the crowd joined in, “Crucify him, crucify him.”
Pilate looked for a long moment at the crowd in feigned amazement. “It is your decision then, not mine. My hands are clean in this.”
He dipped his hands in a bowl of water and dried them with the towel.
“We are finished here,” he said to Caiaphas. “Go away.”
“The crucifixion?”
“Tomorrow.”
“But I thought—”
“It is your Passover, High Priest. Go and celebrate your deliverance out of the hands of the enemies of your god. Go.”
Chapter XL
Gamaliel and Loukas managed to intercept Caiaphas at the foot of the Praetorium steps. The High Priest swerved in an attempt to avoid them, but Gamaliel stepped in front of him and held up his hand.
“Stop, High Priest. Have you any idea what you have done? You would not listen, High Priest. Instead, against advice and common sense, you would plow ahead like an ox bothered by a wasp. Why must you be so stubborn?”
“I am the High Priest, Rabban. I know my duty even when others do not.”
“Your duty is to attend to the Temple, its priests, and its worship. It has nothing to do with rooting out teachers with whom you do not agree. That is my job. Because you failed to grasp that concept, you have brought about the release of the most evil man in the Nation. Barabbas now has a license to prey on us again. I understand that a few people foolishly believe his release will thin the ranks of our oppressors, cause them to spend their resources in the wilderness, and therefore not be here to annoy us. They are wrong. Instead, it will only prompt the authorities to import even more troops. More soldiers mean more oppression, more taxes to pay for them, and all because you would destroy an insignificant rabbi whose great wrong lay in his power to attract followers where your chosen circle cannot.”
“That is not the case. He is a blasphemer and a heretic. He tempts the wrath of Ha Shem. And, just to be clear, it was not I, but Pilate who freed Barabbas.”
“That is nonsense and you know it. I do not know what game the Prefect plays at. I suspect it has something to do with why those dignitaries are in the city. I will find out soon enough. Despite your disingenuous notion to convince the Nation that Yeshua poses a threat and Rome is to blame for his death, you and you alone staged this drama. You have unleashed a tragedy, Caiaphas, not unlike one of those epic Greek plays where an early act of hubris plays out in the lives of kings and princes over many years and inevitably ends in everyone’s destruction.”
“What are you nattering on about, Rabban? What drama? I merely asked for and received support from the Prefect in the matter concerning a rabbi who poses a threat to us and to him. Whether you will see it that way or not is immaterial. Drama? Of all the analogies to ever have proceeded from your mouth, that is the worst. Furthermore, just how can Pilate’s freeing Barabbas pose a threat? Barabbas is no more than a brigand, a thief. It is only a matter of time before he will be recaptured and that will be the end of him.”
“No, you are mistaken.”
In the back of his mind Gamaliel’s heard a familiar mur-
muring.
It will not collapse right away, Rabban, but the eagle that was once Rome is rapidly devolving into a guinea fowl. The majesty of your Moses has slipped into a quagmire of petty rules, and laws. Disputes between rival interpreters of it will slowly suck you down. Mark my words, Rabban…Gaze long and hard on your golden Temple for your generation will be the last to marvel at its glory.
The King’s companion, Menahem, had said that to him. How long ago? Two, two and a half years? Is this what he meant?
“High Priest, this man, whom you dismiss as no more than a common brigand is very much more. The seeds of our destruction lay with him and what he represents, not with that rabbi you so despise.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. How can that be? He is nothing but a nuisance. You said so yourself.”
“I have since learned that he attracts men to him, dangerous men. His following grows like that of Yeshua. The difference between them is that where the rabbi teaches peace, the thief teaches revolution and war.”
“Revolution, you say? And is that such a terrible thing. Can we not hope for a release from these hateful people?”
“Do you remember our conversation last week about the Sicarii, the Dagger Men? His ranks are filling with them and with Zealots, and all sorts of foolish men who feel life has treated them badly and wish to lash out at someone. They believe that they can defeat Rome, that righteousness and fire in their bellies will overcome the reality of Rome and its legions. Many will die and then when the insurrection they have begun draws too many to its banner and becomes too intense, they will experience the might of Rome as never before. Legionnaires on the orders sent to their Centurions from Rome itself, will destroy us, the Temple, the Nation. Rome will, Caiaphas, not Yeshua and his band of fishermen. The end of the Nation as we know it may well be your legacy, High Priest.”
Gamaliel turned and marched away before the dumbstruck Priest could respond.
“That sounded pretty strong, even coming from you,” Loukas said as they forced their way through the crowd. “Very prophetic, if I may say so.”
“I am no prophet. I do not pretend to be one, never have, but I know someone who is and he says, and now I agree, it will happen. It is just a matter of time.”
“How much time? When will this cataclysm occur?”
“That I don’t know. It is prophesy, after all—one month, two years, who knows, four generations? But it will come to pass. Enough of this. I must go home. I am tired and I have a Passover to prepare. We will talk some more tomorrow. I need to spend some time querying your servants, Sarai and Yakob. If they are forthcoming, and with any luck, we will be done with the Prefect after Shabbat. In the meantime, I will count my Passovers from now on. I fear that the ones I am to experience in David’s city may be numbered.”
“It is not like you to be a pessimist, Rabban.”
“Perhaps some of the Prefect’s ‘pragmatism’ has rubbed off on me.”
***
Pilate stood at the top of the steps and watched as the High Priest descended to the Mount and struggled to compose himself. He had been hard on Caiaphas. It had been necessary and he had no regrets. When it came to abusing this people and their officials, he never had regrets. He ruled as a Roman governor, not some milksop. He did have some qualms when it came to the Rabban, however.
“Pilate,” the Tribune called from within the Fortress, “in the light of the letters Rufus carries, would you care to enlighten us as to what you just did?”
“Gladly Honorable Tribune and Emissary of the Emperor. If I understand what I have been told about your mission here, I have made your day.”
“How is that? I am unaware you have any knowledge of why Cassia, Aurelius, and I traveled to this forsaken outpost.”
/> “Just so, but in this god forsaken outpost one is hard pressed to keep secrets. It is in the air. I believe you were sent to ascertain my loyalties to the gods of Rome and to make certain I have not converted to the inane religion of the Jews.”
“Perhaps…”
“That being the case, please note, the man I will send to the cross tomorrow, condemned to it by his peers, by the way, and not I, claims to be the mortal offspring of their god. Many of the people here have come to accept the truth of that. I have seen to his destruction. I can hardly be believed to be one of them if I do that, now can I?”
“You will kill a demigod?”
“Many will think so.”
“And the man set free?”
“Their worst nightmare. That man pillages, murders, and terrorizes his own people. To placate them, our legionnaires hunt him down. If we were to cease and desist even for a week, say…well you see how it might go for them.”
“I see. You have a genius for survival, Pilate, but then we always knew that. I, for one, only wondered how you would do it. Now, I am interested in seeing how that same genius will extricate you from the charge of murdering your rival?”
“If you will make yourself available in the very near future, I will demonstrate it for you. Now, please excuse me. In all the excitement, I missed my midday meal. I must retire to my quarters and dine.”
YOM SHISHI
Chapter XLI
The previous night, Gamaliel’s sons, their wives, and children had spent the Passover with him. The evening had passed pleasantly enough, but Pilate’s question nagged at him. His family departed, Gamaliel collapsed into his favorite couch. He loved this Holy Day and the story of the escape from Egypt and he loved his family, but this Passover lacked the bright optimism he usually experienced. He thought it might have had something to do with the outrage at the Praetorium.
After his morning ritual, he left to meet Loukas. His route usually took him across the Temple Mount and around the western wall of the Antonia Fortress. Occasionally, perhaps on High Holy days when pilgrims and worshipers filled the mount with their sacrifices, he would take a longer, but less busy route along the streets farther to the west and then work his way back to the Sheep Gate. Today he found he could do neither. Visitors packed the Temple area trying to have one last look at their Temple. Because the following day would be Shabbat, many of them would likely linger until the day after and the crowds would remain.
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