I, Judas

by Taylor Caldwell

  “Master,” he said, “show us the Father, and it will satisfy me.”

  A look of sorrow came into Jesus’ eyes.

  “Have I been with you so long, Philip, and yet you have not known me? For he that has seen me has surely seen the Father. So how can you say: ‘Show us the Father’? Do you not believe, even now, that I am in the Father, and the Father in me? For the words that I speak unto you, I speak not of myself. But it is my Father, who dwells in me, that does the work. And if for no other reason, believe me then for the very works’ sake.”

  How ironic it was that they should doubt him while I believed in his God power implicitly. But still he made no mention of delivering the lamb of God from the wolf cubs of Rome. And so, when none was looking, I got up and went out, knowing that we were to meet again in the valley of decision.

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE CONFRONTATION

  THE CONFRONTATION HAD COME AT LAST. In a few hours, before the Passover, the world would know of Christ’s power. He was not always a peaceful man. I had seen his eye flash at injustice and, risking Roman wrath, he had pulled their victims from the trees to which they had been nailed for not paying Rome its tribute or for striking a Roman soldier who trifled with their women. He would yet be a Moses to his people, that I felt, despite all his talk of dying. He who raised Lazarus could surely raise himself. Even if he did everything only with the Father’s help, certainly the God that helped Moses, assailing the Egyptians with pestilence and flood, would not forsake his only begotten son.

  I could see no reason for the elaborate preparations to take him. Scores of Temple guards had been mustered and Pilate’s troops had been put on an alert. There was also a multitude of Levites and Temple sympathizers who were to trail along to counter any opposing opinion. But who would be there at this hour, in the lonely Garden of Gethsemane, among the abandoned olive presses, but Jesus and the Twelve? What Twelve? I winced in spite of myself.

  The time had come for Jesus to take a stand. The Zealot raiders, ignored by the multitudes, were being hunted down like rats. Outside Jericho, an attack on the garrison was repulsed, and the renegades Cestus and Dysmas taken and swiftly consigned to crosses. For Rome made short work of revolutionaries, whether a noble Brutus or an evil-smelling Syrian Jew. I heard, too, that bar-Abbas was captured in the same raid, but I had no tears for him.

  I approached the confrontation with some trepidation. The High Priests had commissioned the twisted dwarf of a Sadoc to go along with me, and called on the captain of their guards, one Malchus, to head the armed detail. It was an overpowering force for one man.

  Caiaphas gave me my last instructions.

  “Give Jesus no warning, and bring him directly to my palace.”

  I looked at him in astonishment. “How can he be tried here, outside the jurisdiction of the Temple?”

  “The Temple,” he retorted, “is wherever the High Priests are.”

  “But will there be a quorum at this hour?”

  “We govern the trial, take care of your task, and move expeditiously or it will go hard with you.”

  “Has the Nasi been informed?” I asked.

  Caiaphas lifted a hand as if to strike me, and my own hand came up quickly. “I am not your servant,” I cried. “I do this for Israel.”

  “Whatever you do it for,” put in Annas, “begone and get it done.”

  I protested the considerable company formed to seize one peaceful man.

  “He has the demon in him,” rejoined Caiaphas, “and who knows but he will hypnotize many into joining with him? Did he not hypnotize the multitude into thinking they were eating bread and fish, when there was but a basketful of food?”

  “There is no time,” said Annas impatiently. “Get on with it, man, or we will get another, and put you in chains.”

  “You still need me as a witness,” I cried.

  The guards carried lanterns and torches, and some were armed with swords and staves. I knew exactly where to take them, having been in the Garden of Gethsemane many times, and soon, walking rapidly with Malchus at my elbow, I made out the shadow of a lone figure near an ebbing fire. Even from the silhouette, I knew who it must be.

  As we burst into the camp, the place immediately came alive. One person after another scrambled up from his bed of grass and rent the night with cries of alarm. The captain of the Temple guards was straining in the darkness.

  “I will pick him out for you,” I whispered. “Whomsoever I kiss, it shall be he. Hold him fast so that he will suffer no injury from your soldiers.”

  Jesus stood quietly, as though he had been waiting for me.

  I leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

  He gave me a look that made my knees wax.

  “My dear friend,” said he, “I have been expecting you. You see, I threw the sop rightly.”

  I was beside myself with grief. “Master, Master,” I cried.

  And this they took for a sign. But he bore no malice, this I know, for he held out his hand to me first; no disciple took Jesus’ hand of himself. “Do what you have to, and do it fast,” he said, for he knew that what I did was not out of spite but for what he might do.

  “This is no betrayal. Master,” I whispered in his ear. ‘Trust me. For if you but raise your voice for freedom, all will still follow you, even the Temple guards.”

  He turned away from me, and from the clustered lights of many torches I could see his eyes flash boldly over the multitude.

  “Why do you come as though I were a thief? Have I not sat daily with you teaching in the Temple, and you made no effort to lay hold of me?”

  The multitude fell back, and even the soldiers sank to their knees in their fear. Only Malchus, the chief servant of the High Priests, shook off the spell and came forward, sword outstretched. A tall, bulky figure stepped out of the light and smote Malchus. The guard clapped his hand to his ear which hung by a thread.

  Jesus passed his hand over the wound, and put back the ear. Now, more than ever, witnessing this miracle, I knew he could do whatever he wished.

  None dared lay a hand on him, not even Malchus, holding back in his wonderment. They might well have returned empty-handed, and what a resounding victory this would have been. But he spoke sharply to Peter, still standing between him and the soldiers. “Put up your sword, for they that take the sword shall perish by the sword. Even now I could pray to my Father, and he would give me more than twelve legions of angels. But how then shall I accomplish what I have come to do?”

  While the issue appeared in doubt, Sadoc had remained discreetly in the background, but, seeing Christ’s air of resignation, he quickly took charge. “He is only a hypnotist who fools you with his tricks. Seize him and his followers. Let none escape.”

  Jesus called for Peter and the rest to leave. And as Peter hesitated, he gave him a push. “You will deny me,” he said, “but not yet.”

  The disciples fled for their lives, but not before Sadoc had reached out for one fleeing figure and snatched his tunic of fine linen. Naked, the fugitive kept running until he was out of sight. It was John, the beloved disciple who so much loved the Master. That for his love.

  During the march to Caiaphas’ palace I pleaded with Jesus that he still take a stand, but he just stared stonily ahead, his lips occasionally moving in silent prayer. Malchus, pressing his ear in wonder, sought to strike up a conversation with the Master, and would have done anything he asked, but he was oblivious of him as well.

  Malchus came to me with tears in his eyes. “I would free him however I fared. For he is indeed the Son of God.”

  “Don’t fret,” I said, “for he can free himself.”

  Malchus looked at me doubtfully. “I fear it has all been arranged.”

  “He can do what he will,” I assured him.

  “You know him well. Tell me, who does he speak to, who is this Abba?”

  “That is his Father in heaven. Why do you ask?”

  “He keeps mentioning him, saying under
his breath: ‘Abba, all things are possible unto you. Take away this cup from me, if you will. Nevertheless, not what I will, Abba, but what you will.’”

  I was cheered. For I took this as a sign. Whatever he was. Son of David, Son of Man, Messiah, the Deliverer, Son of God, or King of the Jews, he was as loath to die as the rest of us. How could he hope to change the world unless he was of the world? Yes, this was encouraging news Malchus brought.

  Ironically, we passed the cenacle, where we had supped a short time before, just as the imposing palace of Caiaphas came dimly into view. The multitude had followed, for they were a paid claque, employed to do the priests’ bidding whenever some specific public reaction was desired. Some filtered into the Great Hall of the palace while others remained in the cold night until sent away.

  Annas sat alone on a platform. Below him were a few familiar faces: Ezra, Eleazar, and Sadoc. But there was no Gamaliel, Nicodemus, or Joseph of Arimathea. There was not a friendly face in the whole auditorium. Jesus, his hands bound, was pushed onto a stand just below Annas, while Caiaphas stood but a few feet from Jesus and glowered.

  I liked not the look of the hall; it was vast and cold, and dimly lit, so that the shadows fluttered on the marble walls and gave a somber cast to the proceedings. I quickly looked about and could see only a sprinkling of Pharisees; the majority were Sadducees, but even so, there was hardly a quorum, since at least two thirds of the seventy were required and there were less than half that number ranged in a semicircle before the priest.

  As my eyes took in the bank of witnesses, I saw a familiar figure, unkempt and in rags, flung in with the others. It was Joshua-bar-Abbas; his hands were tied, and he looked about wrathfully, clamoring that his shackles be loosened. I had thought him to be on the cross by now. And yet, at a peremptory nod from Caiaphas, he was unbound and sat chafing his wrists and sneaking furtive looks around the Great Hall. Remarkably, he seemed as confident and self-assured as ever.

  Ignoring bar-Abbas, I approached Caiaphas, as he finished a conversation with Annas, to protest the lack of a proper quorum.

  He stood stiff and arrogant.

  “Tell me not my business, knave,” he shouted.

  My cheeks burned. He spoke to me as Pilate spoke to him.

  “All Israel will decry this injustice,” I shouted back.

  “We have called a meeting of the Beth Din, the lower court,” he explained contemptuously, “and this requires but twenty-three members, who can act as well in an emergency.”

  “And what is this emergency,” I said, “the improvident haste to finish with him before the sunset?”

  “You come as a witness, and could very well become a defendant if you do not watch your tongue.”

  I darted a glance at Jesus. He looked about impassively, as if unmindful of what was transpiring.

  There was none to defend him, only himself. I now had some uneasiness about my own testimony. With Gamaliel not there, it was plain that the priests would press for a conviction.

  I decided, with a sigh of relief, I would do nothing more to sharpen the confrontation but would testify only to that which would help him.

  The trial began.

  The first witness was an old man, an Amharetz, who looked like he had been browbeaten all his life. He glanced about furtively with his colorless eyes and seemed to shrink into his shoes as the Prosecutor Caiaphas pounced on him.

  “You had the palsy, you say?”

  “All my life, sir.”

  Suddenly I recalled him. It had been in Jericho, more than a year ago. It had been just another healing, and I was surprised that he should have been picked out from the multitude.

  “And you say you were healed?”

  “I was healed.” He thrust out his hands. “You see, they no longer shake.”

  Annas frowned from the platform. “Answer only the question with a yes or no, as the case may be.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “And who accomplished this so-called healing?”

  “Jesus of Nazareth.”

  “Could you point him out?”

  The old man nodded toward Jesus. “His Holiness stands so close I could almost reach out and touch him.”

  “His Holiness?” Caiaphas’ high-bridged nose sniffed at the ceiling. “Why do you call him such?”

  “Well, Your Worship …”

  “Address me as Prosecutor or sir, you jackanapes.”

  The witness gulped. “He seemed to be sent of the Holy One. His power was so great that only God would have conceived it.”

  Annas glowered at him. “Answer the questions only, fellow.”

  Caiaphas spoke in silken tones. “Did this man, this Jesus of Nazareth, say he was sent by God?”

  “He said only that he did God’s work.”

  “Answer yes or no.” Annas’ voice was like a knife.

  The witness looked bewildered. “It is neither yes nor no,” said he with a helpless shrug.

  “Was it not blasphemy for him to couple himself so familiarly with the Holy One?”

  “Not if the healing was accomplished through God. For how else could it have come, sir?”

  I could see from Caiaphas’ face that he already regretted calling this witness, as he looked down the witness bank, I could see him come to an instant decision.

  “I am dismissing this witness. Your Honor, as there are other witnesses. One is Judah-bar-Simon, a disciple of this Jesus, and agent for the Sanhedrin.” I gulped at this violation of a confidence, which made me seem to have betrayed Jesus for the Sanhedrin and in no way reflected my true thinking.

  The second witness,” said Caiaphas, “is the professed Zealot leader, also a disciple of this Jesus, and likewise an agent for the Sanhedrin. This is Joshua-bar-Abbas, who was mistakenly seized by the Romans while on an undercover assignment for the Sanhedrin.”

  So it had been he all this time. I knew now how Jesus’ movements, and those of the disciples, were known to the Temple. How even my comings and goings were noted, even to my overnight stay with Lazarus and my plans to visit my mother and Rachel.

  I looked at Annas and could see it was all staged.

  He nodded perfunctorily, then said to the Prosecutor:

  “I would question the present witness before you proceed.”

  Caiaphas bowed. “As you will.”

  The old man looked up anxiously.

  Annas’ cold eyes bored into him. “Now you said that this healing came through God? Would you know this for a certainty?”

  His eyes blinked nervously.

  “No, sir, only what they said.”

  “They?” Annas leaned forward fiercely. “Who is ‘they’?”

  “There was another man there whom Jesus called Peter, and he said that only the Christ, the Anointed, the Son of God, could do what Jesus had done.”

  “And what did your Jesus say to this?”

  Even the cleverest man could sometimes overreach.

  “He said that he did nothing himself. It was all through the Father, and they could do as much with faith in God.”

  I saw Caiaphas’ lip droop slightly. I suppose even he chafed under the older man’s authority.

  “You are free to go,” he said almost pleasantly.

  Bar-Abbas, twice a renegade, stepped to the witness platform. He had a scornful glance for me but did not dare look at the Master, who still stood quietly detached, as if the proceedings had nothing to do with him.

  As I looked at the rogue he seemed so transparent I could not understand how I had failed to see through him at once. The Master had trusted him as well, but then he trusted everybody, saying it was better to trust and be deceived than to be continually guarded in one’s relations with people.

  Bar-Abbas faced Caiaphas confidently, and well he might.

  “You know this man, Jesus?”

  “As well as I know you.”

  The Prosecutor frowned. “You were his disciple?”

  “That I was, until I saw that he led the Je
ws to insurrection.”

  What a barefaced lie. I almost cried out in protest.

  “Did he style himself King of the Jews?”

  “He spoke often of this kingdom of his, and I suppose that was what he meant, for all know the Messiah was come to lead the nation, and he called himself the Messiah.”

  “Have you seen any violence come of his exhortations?”

  “In Galilee the crowd was so aroused that it stampeded amid great shouting, and would have crowned him King then and there had he not drawn back when he observed some soldiers in the crowd.”

  How some men twist the truth to their own evil purpose.

  “‘Tis said that he counted himself the equal of God.”

  “Oh, yes, he called him by name, Abba, as is generally known, and said he and his Father were as one. But then he has made no secret of this, speaking before the Pharisees in the Temple.”

  “He claims that, like God, he can be everywhere at once, and even walk on water and calm the waves with a word. Have you seen such evidence?”

  “Only in his boasting that it was a simple thing for him, since he and God were inseparable, and God would not allow his son to fail in anything.”

  “His son!” Caiaphas’ voice rose scornfully through the huge chamber. “And how did God beget him, did he say?”

  “In a wave of clouds, for he maintained that he would never die, but would be born again and be sighted in the skies.”

  Caiaphas shot a look at the presiding justice. “This is blasphemy, if I ever heard it. What more remains to be said?”

  Annas regarded him bleakly.

  “Our law states there must be two witnesses corroborating the charges, and the prisoner himself must be heard from. We shall be judged by the way we judge him.”

  My eyes fell on Jesus, hoping that he would bestir himself in response to these falsehoods. But he still looked disinterested, his lips occasionally moving in silent prayer. Would that he summoned his legions of angels, and that they were the same that had exterminated the Egyptian firstborn.

  ” Judah-bar-Simon.”

  I moved forward as my name was called and saw Jesus’ eyes light on me for an instant. There was no glint of recognition.