It was odd that two sisters could see him so differently. Mary’s face grew dark with her morose thoughts. “He is also very much a man, with a limitless capacity to love and be loved, and all close to him, whether man or woman, feel the irresistible impact of his manhood.”
I looked at her in surprise, for I had not thought of Jesus like other men, with the attributes and qualities of a healthy, virile man in the prime of his being.
Occasionally a thought came to me that I knew to be the truth because it conformed with the orderly pattern of the discernible universe and so reflected the will of him who had created heaven and earth.
“Jesus,” I said, “is the universal man, the first and perhaps the only one, whereas his ancestor David epitomized the worldly man, with all his faults and frailties. In this way we are reminded of Jesus’ perfection as a man even as we are cognizant of the other’s imperfections.” My glance included both Martha and Mary. “In this perfection he expresses his love for all, undiluted by any love of family or of woman. He does not look at women like the rest, for even when we ordinary mortals have forsworn temptation, our thoughts still do battle with our wish to be as he would have us be.”
Lazarus looked at me guiltily. I had heard he had many mistresses and was as hard-pressed to leave these as his wealth and comfort. I found it remarkable that Jesus did not chide him for his weaknesses, but he often made allowances for those he loved. “If not for sinners,” he said with a smile when I once questioned him, “we would have no work to do. The Lord loves all alike, so long as they confess their weaknesses.”
Lazarus may have read my mind.
“You have spoken well,” he said now in his condescending way.
Although I had not acknowledged it, I too was concerned about the summons and thought it expedient to get my things together and take to the road.
Mary Magdalen took my hand and peered deeply into my eyes.
“Remember at all times his love for you.”
“I need not be reminded of that.”
“Go in peace, and know that we count on you. Only you can speak in his defense where you go.”
She made me uncomfortable without my knowing why.
“You make a mountain out of nothing.”
Lazarus took my hand. “You are dear to us because of him. Farewell, and call on us if there is any need. I can never repay him.”
With a sense of disquiet, I set out for the Holy City, traveling by foot, as it was but a few miles. The Temple was astir as usual. Jesus’ assault on the money changers had little enduring value, and they were back at their old stands, cheating the pilgrims as unconscionably as before. It was another reminder, if one was needed, of Jesus’ ineffectiveness for want of a position of authority. What he could do if only he were King.
I passed through the Court of Gentiles and ascended the steps in the Court of Priests, where I had been told to come. As before, there were guards at the door, but again they quickly passed me through. I could feel my heart pounding, for no valid reason, save for a premonition of evil that suddenly seized me. I threw it off with an effort. I knew that the summons concerned Jesus. What other reason could they have? Of himself, Judas Iscariot, as I was becoming known, was of no importance.
I was quietly relieved, therefore, when the Reb Gamaliel’s soulful eyes peered into mine.
He gripped my hand with surprising strength. “You come in time to help Israel,” he said.
Over his shoulder I could see the pinched faces of Annas and Caiaphas.
“You have been dilatory,” said Annas by way of a greeting.
“In what way?” I quickly withdrew the hand I had offered.
As I took the chair pushed forward by Gamaliel, the High Priests continued to stand.
Annas promptly took the initiative, saying accusingly: “He was offered the kingdom, and you did not let us know.”
“What was there to tell you? He ran from it like a frightened hare.”
I deliberately deprecated him, thinking to minimize the incident.
“Did you think that out of a crowd of five thousand none would apprise us of the insurrection he inspired?”
“He cannot help what others say or do.”
Gamaliel had taken a chair next to mine, thoughtfully resting his bearded chin in his hand.
“What he says is true. Who can govern the actions of others?”
“Pilate cares not for reasons or rationale, only that there be no hint of a disturbance.”
The Procurator’s name was enough to make me see red. “Must we always jump when he barks?”
“Just as he jumps when Rome barks,” said Annas drily.
“There was no real disturbance, just a commotion when Jesus scorned the crown that some few offered.”
Caiaphas had been eyeing me maliciously.
“Julius Caesar was thrice offered the kingship of Rome and three times he refused, waiting for a more expedient time while cloaking his ambition with false modesty.”
“For all we know,” put in Annas, “like Caesar, he had his friends stir up this spontaneous demonstration.” He turned to his son-in-law for a moment. “Was not the crowd incited by two or three of his own disciples?”
How well Jesus’ activities were reported! I had not seen any of the familiar Pharisee and Sadducee faces, but in a throng that large anybody could pass unnoticed.
“I can assure you,” I said boldly, “that Jesus would not for a moment consider any temporal advantage.”
“I see,” said Caiaphas. “His ambitions are devoted to the priesthood.”
“Not at all.”
“Then what is his interest? What does he want of Israel?”
“He asks nothing of Israel but that it be repentant, and he offers salvation and everlasting life.”
There was a sneer on the cold, crafty face. “He offers? Is he God then that he disposes his bounty with such an open hand?”
Caiaphas’ lips turned down at the corners. “No, he makes no such great claim. He is only the Son of God. He had the heavens for a father and the earth for a mother.” If not said in mockery, it would have been well spoken.
“He says we are all children of God.”
Annas walked over to the window and looked beyond the Court of Priests out onto the Court of Gentiles, on the grasping shopkeepers and the Amharetzin with whom they were haggling noisily. He waved a disdainful hand. “And so these are God’s children.”
“All have that potential.”
I saw in Gamaliel an uneasiness absent at our earlier meetings. His eyes had clouded over, and he wore a pensive expression.
“It goes not easy with Israel these days, Judah,” he said with a sigh.
“It will be better, the Messiah will make it better.”
Caiaphas had taken a more aggressive position than before. ‘Tour Messiah,” he spluttered, “will be the ruination of Israel. We sit here, waiting for the sword to drop, and you speak of his saving the country. I had thought you many things, but never a fool.”
I was mystified by the tenor of the conversation, sensing there was something unspoken that was agitating even the normally imperturbable Annas.
“I know many who will speak in the Messiah’s behalf before the Council. There will be no question that it is he whom all Israel has been waiting for.”
“It is a different kind of Council that he will face.” Caiaphas bit off the words savagely.
Gamaliel’s long face grew even longer. “The mighty arm of Rome reaches into our most sacred conclaves. Sejanus has fallen, and the capital of the world is in a turmoil. The word has gone out that every rising be nipped in the bud, every insurgent hanged from the nearest tree. In every little rebel, every street-corner orator, the frightened Tiberius now sees a Sejanus, plotting to cast him from his throne.”
Sejanus was gone, incredibly. He had ruled Rome without restraint, and now he was betrayed by the very forces he had conspired with. How frail indeed was this Empire with its mantle of might and glory and its feet of cl
ay. All that was needed was a Spartacus with a mission, a Jesus to light the spark that would inflame the Empire from Parthia to the distant islands.
And Pilate was Sejanus’ man.
“This should be an end of Pilate,” I said, “so there is some good news from Rome.”
Caiaphas’ face darkened.
“You fool, why do you think we sit here, but to do the bidding of a Pilate who now has to disclaim his sponsor by loudly thundering his loyalty?”
“And how will this assassin of the innocent manage that?”
Annas gave me a reproving glance. “You have a dangerous tongue, Judah.”
Caiaphas laughed disagreeably.
“He thinks he plays games with his gang of cutthroats.”
“I play no games with any man’s life.”
“As we have said before,” said Caiaphas, “the Romans are not the Syrians, Greeks, or Persians. Their God is their legions. They may lose an encounter, but they do not lose wars. Tempt them, and they will wipe out your band of idiots like the brigands they are.”
“They are patriots,” I said hotly.
He gave me a malevolent look. “You play a fool’s game, and were it not for Gamaliel’s sentimentality, you would be a likely candidate for the gibbet.”
“What further use have you of me? For I would have none of you.”
“You have worked into a position where you are extremely useful to Israel.”
“I have done what you asked.”
He gave me a hard smile. “And more. For it qualifies you eminently as a witness.”
I looked at him in horrified disbelief. “For this you made me your agent?”
The Reb Gamaliel held up a hand. “Circumstances have given the project a different color.”
I stood up to them boldly. “My color is the same, I have not changed.”
Caiaphas gave me an ugly look. “You dare to lie to us! You have become his trusted follower, his treasurer, and none is in a better position to impeach him.”
I rose to his defense.
“You have nothing to fear from him; his followers leave him and others scorn him because he did not conform to their idea of the Messiah.” I saw my mistake in diminishing him the moment I spoke, and so I added quickly:
“But many people still love him, and those who have slipped away will return once they realize that he does not have to be a King like David to be their Messiah.”
“No matter,” said Annas, “the crown was still offered, and he could improve his position at any time by accepting what he first rejected.”
“You do not know him. He cares not for earthly matters.”
“If we let him alone,” said Annas, “all men will believe in him, and the Romans shall take away what rule we have and throw out the priests and our religion. What would Israel be without its Temple?”
I thought it best not to make the reply that leapt to my lips.
“His is truly God’s voice,” I pleaded. “Listen to him, and Israel’s troubles will vanish.”
“Yes,” growled Caiaphas, “for there will be no Israel.” His eyes smoldered. “How can you so readily betray your own class? Do you not consider it expedient that one man should die for the people so that the whole nation will not perish, together with the Jews dispersed through the Empire.”
My heart stood still for a moment. “You cannot mean what you say. Even so, what power have you over him who has power over death?”
Annas’ eyes gleamed with hate. “Now you give us added reason for his extinction. He claims powers not even claimed for the Emperor.”
“The Emperor,” I said warmly, “is not our Messiah.”
“And neither,” said Caiaphas, “is the Nazarene.”
“You promised a hearing before the Council of Five. Gladly will I be a witness to these proceedings.”
“The time for that is long gone,” said Annas, “had there ever been a time. The Romans will not wait. Even now Pilate is in the Antonia expecting our decision. For if we do not act, he will, and his hand is heavier than ours.”
“What has Pilate to do with our Messiah?”
“He cares not what a rebel is called. They are all the same to him. Any scapegoat will do.”
I looked long at Gamaliel.
“You have always stood for justice. Stand for it now, friend of my father.”
Gamaliel regarded me uneasily.
“I would speak with him alone for a few moments.”
Annas made a gesture of impatience. “The longer Pilate waits, the uglier he will be.”
With a curt nod to the others, the Nasi of the Sanhedrin drew me into an adjacent room.
We surveyed each other silently for a few moments.
“And so,” I said bitterly, “I was but a pawn.”
“You were used, it is true, but for a good cause. I, for one, wanted to know more about the young man who impressed me so as a boy.” His wise old eyes peered mildly into mine. “And you, Judah, were not above using us. Do you think for a moment that the Sanhedrin is not familiar with your activities?”
“There are spies everywhere,” I said warmly.
His hands formed a deliberate steeple. “Sad but true, for in these times no man can be sure of anybody.”
“Jesus can do nothing unworthy, nor does he countenance un-worthiness in others.”
“It would be well if it was otherwise, but we cannot survive without compromise, and to do anything, good or bad, we must survive.”
“Unless we do good there is no survival, according to the Master.”
“He speaks of another world, and we live in this. Which brings me to the point. Cooperate with the elders of Israel, and should Jesus come to trial, he will not be found guilty.”
I stood aghast at the thought of Jesus on trial.
“With what would they charge this holiest of men?”
“With inciting riot for one thing, when the people clamored to make him King, and for blasphemy.”
“He incited no one, and no one loves God more than he. Is this blasphemy?”
“He derides the Sabbath, and calls himself the Son of God.”
I cared not about their Sabbath. “But if he is the Son of God, how then does this violate the law?”
He gave me a penetrating glance. “You believe in him, don’t you?”
“I have seen him do what only God could do. He has made nothing of death, bringing Lazarus back when he already stank of maggots.”
“If he does all this, why do you fear?”
I did not immediately comprehend.
“If he brings Lazarus from the dead, what man can harm him?”
I looked at him doubtfully. “But none can say what Jesus himself wants. He speaks of his own death at times as if it were already accomplished.”
The Reb Gamaliel scratched his nose thoughtfully. “It will do no harm to placate Rome. They look for a scapegoat, but once he is tried and acquitted, they will find another.”
“How can you be so sure of acquittal?”
“Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea are his friends, and they too have influence. It takes a majority of two to convict, and this they can never do, not while you speak for him.”
“But why try him at all?”
“So that Pilate can show Rome that he moves quickly to root out rebellion. There will be others taken, and these will satisfy the Romans.”
With all this double-dealing, I suddenly felt I couldn’t trust anybody.
“It is a great burden you put on me.”
“All I ask is that you testify to what you have seen.”
“Are there not others?”
“As you know, two witnesses are required.”
“And who is the other?”
He hesitated for a moment. “They have somebody from the Temple, when Jesus overthrew the tables.”
“What great crime was this?”
“Nothing really, and for this reason he will be acquitted.”
I shrank at even appearing to b
etray him.
“And if I refuse?”
“You will be summoned in any case. At least, as a voluntary witness, your testimony can be favorable.”
“I trust neither of these High Priests. They think only of their skins.”
“But do you not trust me?”
We looked each other in the eye. “You would perhaps not wittingly deceive me, but you could be deceived.”
He laughed mirthlessly. “Not while I control the Pharisee faction in the Sanhedrin.”
He saw that I was still uneasy.
“Why do you worry when you feel that he can conquer death itself? Not Pilate, nor Caiaphas, nor Annas, nor even the Emperor can harm him then. He clearly becomes mightier than any of them.”
His words rang through my mind like a refrain: “Mightier than any of them.” But, of course, all the leaders of the world paled into insignificance against him. Even the mighty Augustus feared death all his long life, and kept companions by his side at night so he would not be frightened of the shadows. Had not the Lord of Persia looked at his vast army and moaned that all would be dead in seventy-five years? But Jesus brought life eternal, and what he brought others was certainly his for the asking.
I looked up to see Gamaliel studying me with a frown.
“I will do it,” I said, “for his sake, and for Israel.”
Chapter Fifteen
PILATE
THIS MAN HELD the power of life and death over us all, and yet all I could think of was that there was not a single, solitary hair on his gleaming yellow skull.
I watched, fascinated, as he brushed a meaty hand over his glistening head and regarded us with a mocking smile.
He was taller than I would have thought, and his broad, sloping shoulders and his thick, corded neck, which merged with his chin, gave him the look of a gladiator. This impression was enhanced by the leather cuirass he still fancied, with the flat broadsword dangling arrogantly from his hip. It was easy to see he wanted none to forget that he was no mere administrator but had commanded the legions of Rome in battle.
He kept no court at the Fortress, even though his quarters, originally designed by Herod the Great for Mark Anthony’s comfort, were lavish enough for an Emperor. His only courtiers were the palace guard, hulking brutes who stood immobile behind him, holding their spears upright. They were from every segment of the empire, swarthy Nubians from the Sudan, red-freckled Picts from the far islands of Britain, giant long-armed Franks, and grotesque Germans with their blond manes flowing to their hips. It gave a graphic meaning to the word Rome, as none knew better than the man who arranged this show.
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