Fifth Gospel: A Novel (Rosicrucian Quartet) Paperback

by Adriana Koulias

  The court grew silent. Cassius squinted and saw that Pilate had returned and now stood on the other side of the Nazarene. He tried to wipe away the brown film over his eyes but could not.

  ‘Where is Caiaphas?’ shouted Pilate.

  The priest’s mitre was seen even before the man was, so engulfed was he by people crowding the archway to the square.

  ‘Make a way for the priest!’ Cassius barked at the people.

  Caiaphas, with Ananias as his shadow, came out into the lime coloured light.

  Pilate said, ‘This man, which you say has perverted the people, I have examined. I have found no cause in him for your accusations. Herod has also questioned him and finds him innocent. I will chastise him and release him.’

  ‘No!’ Caiaphas yelled out, ‘Rome must answer to the needs of Israel! If he is judged guilty by the Sanhedrin he must be condemned by Rome!’

  A great clamour rose upwards to the clouding sky.

  ‘The way you speak, Caiaphas, one would think that Rome was the servant of Israel and not the other way around.’ Pilate sighed. ‘Is there any man who will speak for this man’s part?’

  Caiaphas looked around him and Cassius could only guess that his look was a warning to those who might dare to say a good thing.

  ‘I will speak!’ said a man. ‘My name is Nicodemus. I am an elder of the Temple. I told the priests, why do you contend with this man? He shows many wondrous signs, which no man has shown before. I have told them to leave him alone and to contrive not any evil against him! But their minds are set, for they held a meeting secretly, desiring that those who would speak on his behalf might not be present. They have also threatened any man that might come forward to defend him with excommunication and they have paid most of the ragamuffins who are now in this square to speak out against him and to intimidate the rest!’

  ‘Is this true?’ Pontius Pilate frowned. ‘Have you paid these people?’

  Caiaphas drew a half smile from his face, ‘Why should we do such a thing, Governor?’

  ‘Liar!’ Nicodemus said.

  ‘Have you threatened the people?’ Pilate asked again.

  ‘Excommunication is a well-known punishment for those who defend blasphemers and those who profane the name of God! This man Nicodemus and takes his part because he is a disciple of Jesus and cannot be trusted, governor.’

  ‘Has the governor become his disciple also?’ Nicodemus said, ‘For I hear him speak on Jesus’ behalf?’

  Caiaphas near snarled, ‘Shut up!’

  Nicodemus countered, ‘You do not like Jesus because he speaks the truth!’

  Caiaphas pushed forward, ‘Shut up again! If Jesus speaks the truth, then may you receive his truth, and his portion!’

  Nicodemus retorted, ‘Amen, Amen! May I receive his truth and I know you will make sure that I receive his portion!’

  Emboldened by Nicodemus other Jews came now from the forum and pushed forward into the square to speak out on behalf of Jesus. A great dispute then arose among the supporters and detractors – enough to deafen the ear.

  In the midst of this an attendant came to the Pavement to whisper something into Pilate’s ear. After that Pilate went to the praetorium and Gaius Cassius wondered if Claudia Procula had sent for him. When he returned he took Cassius aside and said to him, ‘Glance your eye about and tell me, you know the Sicarri, do you recognise any among the crowds? Are these the men the priests have paid to brew this foment?’

  Cassius looked at the sea of faces, each melting into the other. He could not tell who was who. They all looked alike to him, a rabble. But to admit it would be the same as buying a place on a long boat to a sedentary position in Rome. He wiped away the sweat from his brow. He had not heard anything from his spies about Sicarri, only that one of the man’s own disciples had betrayed him.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘there is no love lost between the Sicarri and the priests and so in my estimation these are not the men they would have harnessed for their purpose.’

  ‘Who is here, then?’ Pilate’s tone was full of annoyance.

  He gave Pilate his best assessment. ‘It is likely these are Jews from the city, men already known to the priests.’

  ‘And those who love Jesus?’ Pilate rasped.

  ‘They are not from Jerusalem itself, but from other places. The priests have made certain that most could not find a place in this square. ’

  ‘I see.’ Pontius pondered it, while the world fell into a clamour.

  Pontius finally raised an arm and there was silence. He paused, looking at the crowds.

  ‘According to custom,’ he shouted, ‘Rome entitles the people to a privilege during the feast – the deliverance of one prisoner. I have a man in my dungeon, a murderer, a member of the Sicarri, the son of Abbas, one of those responsible for the massacre of your own citizens in these very streets some years ago. We caught this Bar Abbas only two days ago, planning another insurrection with two others, one called Gesmas and another, Dismas. These men are all sentenced to die, murderers and dissenters and thieves. Remember, this man Bar Abbas was responsible for the blood that ran in these streets, the blood of your kin, and after that he deserted even his own dying brothers to seek his own safety. I will let you choose to release one man this day, either this murderous coward, or the man called Jesus of Nazareth, whom you yourself have called the Christ, a man whom you have seen heal and preach and console the people.’

  The crowd seemed paralysed with uncertainty; a small group of his supporters called out, ‘Free Jesus! Free him!’

  But Caiaphas shrieked his odium over the noise in the court, ‘No! Free Bar Abbas! Free Bar Abbas!’

  A few people caught the contagion and more followed.

  ‘Bar Abbas!’ they cried with lustful passion, raising their fists. ‘Bar Abbas!’

  More and more joined in and drowned out the voices of Jesus’ supporters until the din was unbearable.

  Cassius realised the reason for Pilate’s questions on the Sicarri now and the significance of it made the blood drain from his head.

  Having first ascertained that there were no Sicarri present Pilate had made a gamble. He had gambled that the coins that were paid to this rabble would lose their lustre the moment the people were given the choice between freeing Jesus or the infamously despised creature responsible for the bloodshed of their kin. What Pilate could not have known was that he had gambled on the word of a blind man.

  Pilate’s voice spoke plainly of his amazement, and his annoyance, ‘Which man?’

  ‘Bar Abbas!’

  ‘You wish to release this filthy criminal, this murderer who killed your own people?’

  ‘Bar Abbas!’

  ‘What then shall you have me do with the prisoner, Jesus of Nazareth?’

  Ananias now provided guidance to the throngs, ‘Crucify him!’

  A chorus of yells and screams and vociferations now rang out and echoed in the court. The crowd swelled forward with excitement and vengeance, forcing the guards on the steps to pull up their shields and use them as weapons.

  ‘No!’ Pilate said, and it sounded impetuous, ‘No! I will have him scourged…then we shall see what you think of it!’

  He made a gesture to Septimus, the man who had been Cassius’ optio years ago, but was now advanced. Pilate leant into him to whisper in his ear and after that he told his men to take Jesus of Nazareth to the forum where he would suffer his sentence.

  Cassius came to Pilate. ‘I will go down with them to moderate the men.’

  ‘No.’ Pilate told him. ‘There will be no moderation. He must be sufficiently punished or they will seek his crucifixion. I want you to go to the fortress instead, gather all the soldiery at our disposal and return immediately, I sense that this day shall not end well!’

  ‘But who will control the executioners? They are blooded animals and when they are encouraged they will not easily give a moment’s pause for your orders.’

  ‘Septimus will do it.’

  Ca
ssius said under his breath, ‘That man loves blood more than all of them combined!’

  ‘That is why I have chosen him,’ Pilate said, ‘when they see what Septimus can make of Jesus of Nazareth this miserable crowd will surely not seek more!’

  Pilate left, and Gaius Cassius stood upon an uncertain moment. He looked out to the crowds through the broken haze of his eyes and watched the form of the Nazarene make his abused way through the archway to the forum. There, surrounded by the lustful crowd the guards prepared to chain him naked to a pillar.

  Public and terrible was this punishment.

  The scourges were made of leather thongs and armed with nails and spikes and bones. They tore strips of flesh from the back, the chest, the groin and the face until the prisoner was left an unrecognisable mass of blood and torn flesh.

  Gaius Cassius was weary. He was too old for this. In his heart there was no thrill, no anticipation, no rush of excitement at the prospect of such a spectacle of blood. He felt a particle of discomfort settle in his bones.

  All was dust and shadow. He told himself.

  But it did not suffice.

  He looked at the young soldiers, eager for the show to begin. They would see it for themselves in time how the years passed before their eyes until one day they would find themselves standing upon the Pavement of Rome. They would find themselves sour in the belly and weary of this god-forsaken outpost at the end of the world and yet incapable of living elsewhere.

  He let the thought of it sink into his mettle and sensing the eye of Claudia Procula on the back of his head he made a grunt and took himself through the court and onward to his duty.

  But not before he found Abenader and told him what he must do.

  67

  WATER OF LIFE

  Magdalena had been with the Mother of her Lord throughout the ordeal of the morning. The various proceedings, the noise and hatred of the crowds, the humiliation and the mockery had wrung from her soul so many woes that she did not think herself capable of feeling more. She recalled to her mind the Mother’s words, that they must remain awake and that they must endure all that he was enduring. But was it possible to do so? Had he asked too much? How could she bear to hear the imprecations and curses of those executioners when she could feel each blow of those instruments of torture as if they were tearing her own flesh?

  She looked at the short, burly men, blunt of head and broad of shoulders. They wore a mix of hatred and pleasure on their faces as they struck her Lord. They tired easily, due to the ferocity of their blows and were soon replaced by others who were no less like animals.

  Roman soldiers were stationed at the perimeter of the forum to keep the crowds from advancing on the broken pillar at the centre to which her Lord was strapped. Others called out their encouragement from the guardhouse to those doing their bloody job. The more her Lord’s blood fell on the forum flags the more the world turned inward and she had to dig her nails into the flesh of her arm to stop her soul from seeking solace out of her body.

  When finally a centurion made the men pause in their butchering and her Lord was dragged away all that was left of him were pools of his blood, which flowed now into those channels between the stones. The Mother of her Lord ventured out to the centre of the forum now and knelt on the ground to put her hands to the blood, so red and life-full, sinless and divine. She began then to wipe it with her skirts, and trembling at the knees, Magdalena joined her.

  All around them the dulled sounds of the crowds dimmed to nothing. Magdalena was numb, parched of lips and drained of tears, and yet here, with her knees on the killing floor, tears came again from some undisclosed wellspring. She looked up to forestall them. The sky was streaked with clouds the colour of blood, blood all around, on her hands and on her skirts. She remembered her master’s words to those Pharisees,

  ‘You read the face of the sky and of the earth, but you have not recognised that the one who is before you is the Messiah…you do not know how to read this moment!’

  She wondered how many could read it now?

  Something caught her eye – an angel? No! A woman! A Roman woman dressed in white was carrying a bolt of white cotton cloth. Some of it had come loose and was picked up by a breeze. Having unwound, the cloth floated now behind her as through the crowds the woman came. In the middle of the blood soaked forum she knelt and her eyes found Magdalena’s eyes, and the moment was stood still.

  Magdalena recognised her. She was Pilate’s wife, the people talked of her as a kind woman. Without speaking she held out the bolt of cotton and offered it to the Mother who seemed not to understand what to do with it. By way of instruction the woman set it down upon the blood soaked ground, letting the cloth take up the precious red pools.

  Full of sorrow she wiped the abundant tears that tracked over her face with her bloodied hand, and the three women, kneeling together, understood – differences lived only in the world of men. They were women woven into the same moment and spun together by the thoughts of angels and so they knew:

  This world is old…but His blood is the Water of Life that will make all things new again.

  68

  ECCE HOMO

  Even before Cassius had reached the guardhouse adjacent to the praetorium, he could hear the chants of the guards.

  ‘Hail Jesus, hail the King of the Jews!’

  This was accompanied by much laughter. When he came closer he saw with his poor eyes the tortures to which the man had been subjected and the result of the abuses that the soldiers had inflicted.

  The animals had made Jesus put on his muddied loincloth over his nakedness and had thrown over his shoulders a scarlet military cloak, a Sagum, as a gesture of mockery. On his head they had placed a platted crown made from thorny acacia, this they had pushed down hard on his head so that its thorns had dug deep holes into the skin to make channels of blood run over his face. All of him was a mass of blood and mangled flesh from what he could see.

  Cassius was struck by this spectacle for it recalled to his mind the mysteries of Mithras, in which an initiate was required to withstand not only pain, but also humiliation. It recalled to his mind his failed initiation and the cloak and crown that he had received though he had not deserved them. To this was added what he had heard before from the Jews that Jesus had told them to drink of his blood and to eat of his flesh. The mingling of these seemingly disparate things came together in his head and it was disturbing!

  Was this an initiation made public? For this man Jesus seemed to be manifesting the mysteries of Mithras outwardly for everyone to see!

  Cassius flew into a rage and yelled and kicked and pulled those drunken tormentors from the man. Picking out a number of the more sober archers he ordered Jesus taken out and escorted to the praetorium.

  When they arrived the square was now so crowded that his guards had to push the people away from the steps with shields and staves to keep them at bay. Here, on the portico of the pavement, half leaning, half standing, dripping blood and fettered with chains, dressed in the colours of royal majesty, Jesus waited, looking as if at any moment he would fall.

  When Pilate came out, he said in Latin, ‘Who was it that put that robe on him?’

  ‘The guards,’ Cassius answered.

  ‘He looks like an initiate of Mithras, take it off!’

  Cassius did as he was ordered and the sight of the man disrobed caused even the crowds to gasp.

  ‘What man could want more vengeance than this?’ Pilate said, and turning to the crowds, yelled out, ‘Ecce Homo!’ Then in Aramaic, so that all the people might hear it, not only the priests, ‘Behold! The man! Here is his body and his blood transformed for you!’ he said, ‘Now are you satisfied?’

  Ananias shouted, ‘NO! He has made himself a Son of God and must be condemned!’

  Cassius frowned. What strange day was this? A Son of God! To claim openly the title of Son of God, a God incarnate, was to rival Tiberias who also claimed this title.

  Pilate went through the arch
and gestured for Cassius to bring Jesus to him. Pilate paced the floors, pausing before the figure of the broken, bloodied man.

  ‘Iesus Nazarenus, tell me this…from whence do you come? Is it true that you say you are the Son of God?’

  The prisoner was silent.

  ‘Why do you not answer? Don’t you understand that those filthy priests are accusing you of rivalling Tiberias?’

  Jesus of Nazareth, leaning as he was and clinging to his life, said nothing.

  ‘I have the power to crucify you or to set you free…but you must first deny it!’

  When Jesus finally spoke it seemed to Cassius that the voice was not the voice of a man torn and battered. It was a voice strong and full of authority, ‘You can have no power over me unless that power is given to you from above. Those outside…those who delivered me to you, they have said that I am the Son of God, they say it because they know from whence comes the power in me and to Whom they are responsible. Because of this they have a greater sin than you.’

  Pilate made a gesture of the hand, which Cassius could see meant they should go.

  When they were once more upon the Pavement, the cries for crucifixion rose upwards with greater fierceness.

  The day was low hung and that oppressive heat made breathing difficult under the darkening sky.

  Pilate took himself to the raised throne, the official marble seat. Cassius knew he would now make a judgement, ex cathedra, that is, he would judge as a representative of Caesar. Whatever judgment was made, it would be as if Caesar had made it. The people knew it also and they grew silent, so excited were they at the prospect of what he would say.

  ‘See this, your king! He is the Son of God, your Messiah!’ he said to them.

  Now the court broke out into a great clamour.