He seemed in no hurry to get to the matter, considering his visitors’ anxiety not to keep him waiting. But so it is with those with the upper hand; they invariably let one know it.
It finally suited him to speak.
“You are late,” he said angrily.
“We came as quickly as we could,” said Annas.
“Having hatched some plot in your devious minds.”
“We are sorry for what happened in Rome,” said Gamaliel with mistaken diplomacy.
Pontius Pilate put his hands on his hips and gave us an insolent look.
“Nothing has transpired that you Jews need concern yourselves with,” he said with a venomous smile. “Mind your own behavior, and worry not about Rome. Does the worm concern itself for the sparrow, or the sparrow fret for the hawk?”
“The Nasi,” said Annas, “meant only that we deplore any inconvenience the Emperor suffered, for he has been our friend these many years.”
“True enough, Tiberius has given your nation many privileges, a legacy from the days of the divine Julius, who was befriended by Herod in Egypt, but we Romans don’t live in the past. Nobody, save the Emperor, is indispensable.”
How easy it was for him to dismiss the friend and patron to whom he owed so much.
He held up an imposing sheet of parchment on which the Imperial insignia of Rome was clearly discernible. ‘This came from Rome,” he said in a grating voice. “Every sign of revolt, however slight, is to be put down without mercy, every revolutionary is to be nailed to the cross. Where there is an overt act against the Roman authority, the Procurator will deal with it directly. Where the resistance is to the local authority, the Temple is qualified to handle the matter in its own courts.”
Annas’ eyes blinked for a moment. “But you forget that only the Procurator can impose a capital penalty.”
“This was done for your own protection, so your rival factions would not engage in a bloodbath disruptive to the governing body here and in Caesarea.”
“We may try the culprit,” Annas persisted, “but only you can execute the verdict.”
Pilate’s jaw set in the hard lines so typical of his breed.
“Have you already prejudged this matter, to be so sure of the outcome?”
“It shall be promptly placed before our courts, for it is our desire that the Roman authority know that we are moving energetically to stamp out revolt.”
Pilate poked a finger at Annas and laughed riotously as he saw him squirm.
“Now what game are you Jews up to?”
Annas inclined his head in a slight bow.
“I know not what the Procurator means.”
“My meaning is plain. You Jews are always up to something,”
“We come at your request,” Annas said impassively.
Pilate laughed scornfully, showing his strong white teeth. His dark face glistened with perspiration, though the room was cool, and he mopped his brow with a red cloth.
“Let us not pretend,” he snapped. “You are a quarrelsome lot and would kill one another off if I didn’t keep you in line.”
He laughed uproariously, as if he found the idea amusing. I hated all Romans, but some were worse than others. Pontius Pilate, in his vulgar way, epitomized the worst of Rome.
How I wished the Master were here now, not cringing like the tactful Gamaliel or temporizing like Annas, but standing up to the Roman defiantly, and breathing fire as he had done with the Sadducees and Pharisees. I could hardly wait for the moment when the proud Pilate would kneel before his superior power.
There was something in my demeanor that caught Pilate’s attention at this time. He scowled fiercely as his gaze fell on me. “Who is this flaming-eyed youth who keeps clenching and unclenching his fists like an aggrieved gladiator? At least there is some fight in him.”
Gamaliel stepped forward. “This is Judah-bar-Simon, whom we mentioned earlier. He comes from a family distinguished for their public service.”
“All you Israelites are distinguished.” He laughed harshly. “Like the Britons, you have a King on every hillock.”
“Not so, Excellency,” put in Annas. “We have no King, though one presumes this role.”
“You are wrong, Priest, for you do have a King, and his name is Tiberius. It will go ill with any who usurps his royal prerogatives.”
With a mocking glance for his visitors, whom he kept standing, the deputy of Rome flung himself onto a curule chair, traditionally reserved in Rome for the highest dignitaries. It was a gift of Herod the Great, like everything else in the Fortress Antonia, from the clusters of bronze candelabra hanging from the frescoed ceiling to the marble floors adorned with rich carpeting from Persia.
His deep-set eyes, bridged by the prominent Roman nose, surveyed the small delegation with undisguised contempt. “Because of your indolence and treachery, our caravans are attacked, our arsenals looted, our soldiers ambushed on lonely roads. If you do not have the leaders soon in hand, I shall swiftly step in and handle it for you.”
His eyes looked out menacingly from under their black beetle brows. “It will go badly with all of Israel if you seek to trick me with bogus arrests. The massacre of the Galileans will be like a Grecian festival, for I shall smite the whole land, from Perea to Galilee, and not excluding Judea, with the might of the Empire. The Emperor is in no mood to dally with traitors, and neither is he who speaks for him.”
Annas preserved his calm.
“We already know the ringleader,” he said, “and it will be a simple matter with his arrest to apprehend the others and break up the movement.”
Pilate crossed his brawny arms over his chest. “And this culprit you speak of, is this the same Joshua-bar-Abbas whom my agents tell me is the firebrand of the Zealot cause?”
Annas recoiled slightly. “It is not he of whom I speak.”
“Then your information is better than mine, for bar-Abbas has been seen leading these raids I speak of.”
“The man I speak of is Joshua-bar-Joseph, a Galilean, whom the Gentiles call Jesus.”
Pilate’s missile-shaped head came up quickly, and the flaps of his big ears twitched.
“This Galilean you speak of, is he not the healer from Nazareth?”
“So he says.”
Pilate gave him a scornful look. “You don’t know? Your agents tell you that he is a revolutionary but don’t know that he heals. What kind of agents do you employ?”
I was pleasantly surprised and encouraged by Pilate’s attitude.
“Tell me more about this dangerous Galilean,” he said. “Is he not the one who overturned the tables in the Temple and mocked the High Priests, earning the plaudits of the people?”
Annas flushed, while Caiaphas, strangely quiet, bit his lip. “If it were only this,” said Annas, “it could be handled very quietly by the Sanhedrin, without disturbing Your Excellency. But our agents have evidence of his dangerous nature, and it would well behoove the Procurator to become acquainted with certain facts.”
Pilate gave him a withering look. “Don’t tell me my business, Priest.”
Despite my contempt for Annas, my blood boiled, for his humiliation was Israel’s as well.
“Would you not know what this man has done?”
Pilate’s eyes swept over Caiaphas for the first time.
“So the Chief Prosecutor speaks. Tell me not what crime he has committed, or what conspiracy he has woven, for this is not the time or place. But in your own proceedings make sure that you have the right man before you come to me. I am no tool for your subtle plotting and intrigue. For that go to Herod. He is only a half Jew, to be sure, but the Greek half is no better, for it is full of empty talk.”
He chuckled as if to himself, his thin, bloodless lips tightening over his teeth. “He still resents my slaying the Galileans without his permission. But how was I to know they were from his tetrarchate? Does not one Jew look like another?”
It was more than any man could bear. “No more,” said I warml
y, “than every Roman resembles another.”
Gamaliel appeared stricken, and even the High Priests reacted uneasily. But the Roman only slapped his thigh and roared. “This rooster has some spirit. I like that.”
“This is the man,” said Caiaphas, “who is thoroughly familiar with the insurrectionary movement.”
“And how could he be familiar without being one of them?”
Annas had indeed looked ahead.
“He infiltrated the movement as our agent, so you see we have not been lax.”
Pilate waved a careless hand. “Please do not burden me with your loyalty. This Jesus must be a thorn in your side, or you would not be so solicitous of his movements.” He gave the two priests an evil look. “Does he threaten your coffers with his preachings, or is it your very positions that are at stake? Rest assured, for Rome appoints the High Priests, and Rome prefers the devil it knows to the devil it doesn’t know.”
His eyes skipped over me lightly. “And so this is the man who can speak of the King of the Jews. How well do you know the Galilean?”
“I’ve been with him for two and a half years.”
He looked at me disdainfully.
“As a spy?”
“As his disciple.”
He laughed without amusement. “With a disciple like you, none needs adversaries.”
“I have nothing but good to say for him.”
“Then why are you here? We are not recommending him for office.”
“To speak the truth.” I teetered delicately on the edge of a knife. For I wanted to see Jesus challenged, so he could confront the Romans and triumph over them, and yet I had no wish to play the betrayer, even innocently.
“And what is the truth?” There was a sneer on the thin, pale lips. “I am suspicious of those who speak of truth, for the truth needs no one to speak for it. It speaks for itself.”
“Let it speak then. He is a good and kind man who feeds the poor, heals the sick, and worships the one God.”
“Oh, yes, that God.” From his smirk, Pilate seemed to be enjoying himself. “Why is it that Rome, with its many gods, rules the land which has this omnipotent wonder that nobody sees? Is it because we have many, and you only one?”
Annas spoke up with a frown. “This is no matter for a plain citizen, but a priest.”
Pilate held back his head and roared with laughter. “I have heard the priests. Now I want truth. Didn’t he say he stood for truth?”
He did not intimidate me. A brave man dies but once and, dying, might find that eternity Jesus spoke of.
“He is our Messiah,” I said, “the Promised One of Israel, sent by our God to deliver our nation from its enemies.”
Again he bellowed with laughter. “And how will he do this, with a slingshot, or perchance he will bring down this fortress with his bare arms like your Samson? You see, I know your history, and I must say the past is more impressive than the present. Now tell me more about this King of the Jews.”
“He does not say he is the King of the Jews.”
“What else is your Messiah? I have been in this blighted land for two and a half years, and all I hear are mutterings of this Son of the King David who is coming to lead Israel to victory over all the nations of the world, including Rome. That does not smack of humility to me, for how else can he rule unless he is King, whatever title he takes.”
“They offered him the crown, but he would not take it.”
At this he jumped off his chair and put his face close to mine, scowling darkly. “Who offered him this crown? Who, who, who?”
I had no desire to implicate Cestus or Dysmas and the others.
“There were so many that I could not distinguish one from the other.”
From the smiles that passed between Annas and Caiaphas, I realized I had blundered. In trying to balance the truth, I had slipped off the edge of the knife. “By many, I mean only enough so that I could not pick out any two or three.”
“I know well enough what you mean. And how did Jesus react to this offer?”
“He was disturbed that the multitude did not understand what kingdom he spoke of.”
Again he gave me a grim look. “So he spoke of a kingdom of the Jews, did he?”
“A Kingdom of Heaven, for Jew and Gentile alike. It was no temporal power he sought.”
I seemed to be involving Jesus in a way I had not thought to do.
“It might be well to examine this Jesus,” Pilate said. “I hear he is a harmless man who helps people in his own way, not caring whether they are Jews or Romans. But it will do no harm to see for myself what manner of man he is.” A frown ruffled the dark brow. “Rome has little patience with rebellion, or with these endless conversations. That is for decadent Greeks and Egyptians.”
He waved a jeweled hand in dismissal. “You have your Temple guards, and other conscripts, use them well; I will be watching closely, and if you do not act with vigor, you can count on the Procurator of Judea to atone for your lack.”
He made no move to show out the three loftiest dignitaries in all of Judea, but instead motioned for me to stay. “I would talk further with this disciple of the Galilean.”
The High Priests glanced at each other uneasily, and into Gamaliel’s long face there came a look of concern.
“Judah is a loyal son of Israel,” he said resolutely.
Pilate grinned wickedly. “I know not whether that is an endorsement or an indictment. But fear not, for I like his face. It has all the mobility of the dissembler. He would make a splendid High Priest.”
The three leaders of the highest governing body of Israel backed out of his presence as if they were common slaves. If Jesus could only have witnessed this ignominy, would he not relent in his wrath and do what he could to correct this situation?
Pilate’s rough voice broke in on me, from Greek and Aramaic passing now to Latin. “I understand you have been in Rome.”
“I have had that pleasure,” I replied in Latin, so that he would know I was no country bumpkin.
“There is somebody,” he said, “who would speak to you.” He motioned curtly to one of the guards, instructing him in a low voice. My heart leaped in joy, then good sense prevailed. The Procurator of Judea was hardly a matchmaker.
In a few moments the mystery was resolved. A woman of surpassing beauty, with the clean limbs and clear-cut features of the Pallas Athene, gracefully preceded a burly guard into the room. I had never seen a lovelier woman. Her soft auburn hair, blending with her delicately tinted skin, was tied back in a little knot in the Roman fashion. Her nose was finely chiseled, and her eyes, a rare violet, seemed to give off a luminous glow under perfectly arched brows of shaded gold. But it was her manner I found most captivating. She looked at me with an expression that seemed to suggest I was the most important person in the world.
I had never been with royalty before, and found it disconcerting. But the Lady Claudia Procula soon put me at my ease.
“Tell me about your Jesus,” she said as Pilate stood attentively behind her. “I have had many dreams of him.”
She laughed at my puzzled face.
“My handmaiden Susanna pointed him out to me once from my litter. He would be a handsome man if he were not so solemn.”
I was in a quandary, not knowing what I could say that would be beneficial to him. For she was clearly well disposed. Nevertheless, it would be well to be noncommittal, for what Jew could count on a Roman for anything?
“You know of course that he cured Susanna.”
She laughed, and her laugh was like a bell.
“You need not be guarded with me, sir. As my husband will tell you, I have a genuine interest in this man and thought perhaps that if I knew more of him I could better understand these dreams I have.”
She smiled roguishly. “I hear he is dedicated solely to his God, so there can be none but the most virtuous explanations put upon these dreams.”
“I am no interpreter of dreams. But if Her Excellency will confide her d
ream, perhaps I can relate it in some way to the Master.”
She laughed again. “So you call him the Master? How quaint, for in Rome we have but one Master, and he is a Claudian like myself.”
Pilate opened his mouth to say drily, “He is a Julian now.”
“By adoption,” she said carelessly, “but ceremony is not nearly as thick as blood.”
Pilate seemed to weary of this badinage. “Tell the lady what she would know,” he said roughly. “I like not words that add up to nothing.”
She gave him a look of displeasure. “Don’t frighten our young friend with your faces, for I am sure, if properly coaxed, he can clear up this mystery for me.”
I understood from the centurion Cornelius that many Roman aristocrats were revolted by the corruption of the Court. But it hardly seemed possible that this beautiful lady was moved by anything more than an idle curiosity, prompted by the boredom of a life so far from Rome.
“If you but relate the dream,” I said.
She frowned, as if searching her memory’. “Has your Master been in Rome?”
I shook my head. “Egypt, but nothing more.”
“It is curious then, for in this dream I saw him standing in the Forum, alone, amid the ruins. There was not a building that was not torn down, and he surveyed the rubble with a smile. The smile upset me, for I did not understand how he could smile in all this devastation. I spoke to him. ‘Sir, why is it that you smile when the city is destroyed?’
“He looked at me kindly, saying: ‘From these ruins shall come a greater empire than the world has seen, one that eclipses the kingdoms of bronze and gold and silver and iron. And it shall be as air and water, for there shall be no limit to it.’”
I was startled by the allusion to the four kingdoms, for this assuredly came out of Daniel’s prophecy. Still, how did one tell a Roman that the dream signified the end of their tyranny and the advent of God’s realm?
I, Judas Page 30
