Claudia, Wife of Pontius Pilate

by Taylor, Diana Wallis

  With Trajanius gone as of this morning, perhaps Lucius would feel free to talk to her.

  He took a bite of the melon and then looked up at her. “I was grateful for the news that I am not under discussion by the senate or Tiberius. Sejanus convinced the emperor to appoint me, and other than the letter from the emperor over the shields, it seems I am doing well in their eyes. Trajanius did caution me to keep a low profile and allow no more incidents that would cause the Jews to riot. It could end in my recall to Rome.”

  “Dear husband, you have governed to the very best of your ability, and I’m sure that Sejanus and the emperor know that.”

  “I have not been recalled, so that is my assumption. Still, these Jews are an unruly people. I thought the aqueduct would please them, bringing needed water into the city. What do they do? They riot because I used the Corban money to build it.” He sneered. “They were only angry because I know what they use the money for—themselves.”

  “Your son asks for you. He misses you.”

  His countenance lightened. “I need to spend more time with the boy.” He took her hand. “I am not ungrateful for the healing of his foot, beloved, I just do not understand it. How can a man touch another and they are instantly healed?”

  Claudia considered her words. It was an opening with Lucius to talk of her faith, but she needed to tread carefully. “Those who listen to him feel he is more than a man. He is not arrogant, nor does he advertise himself. His words are compassionate and teach us better ways to treat our fellow man. His only harsh words seem to be for the Jewish leaders, the scribes and Pharisees who mock and question him. He calls them ‘white-washed tombs, full of dead men’s bones.’ They follow the letter of the law, but not the intent.”

  Lucius laughed out loud. “Now if I called them that, they would certainly see to my demise as governor.”

  “Dear husband, only a god could do what Jesus does. He is not a sorcerer or a magician. His eyes are full of compassion for the sick and the lost.”

  “Is it true that he fed several thousand people on a hillside with only two salted fish and a few loaves of bread?”

  She was taken back. “Joanna told me about that. She was there, as were two other women, Mary from Magdala and another follower called Susanna. You have heard the story also?”

  He leaned back. “My centurion is full of stories about this Jesus and what he has done. I admit some skepticism. It seems a very large tale.”

  “He is a good man, Lucius, a man sent from God.”

  He became uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. “Well, he has many followers. I just don’t want to have to deal with a Jewish rebellion on my hands.”

  “He does not speak in those terms to incite people. He is a teacher of the law.”

  “So you say, my dear.” He rose. “Some duties await me to prepare for tomorrow. The Jewish Passover is the time most likely for trouble to come, with the city so crowded. I may rise early. I will go to my own quarters tonight.”

  She hid her disappointment. He seldom used the room set aside for him in the palace. “Will you come and say good night to Doros?”

  He nodded. “Of course. I’ll come now before it becomes late and he is asleep.”

  Doros sat on the floor with his blocks and jumped up when Lucius entered the room.

  “Pater!” Doros went across the floor as fast as his legs would carry him.

  Lucius picked him up. “You are being a good boy for Hotep?”

  “Yes, Pater. I am a good boy.”

  “And how is your foot?”

  Doros glanced at his mother, who gave him a slight warning look. “My foot is good, Pater. I can run and play. I like Jesus. He was kind to me and fixed my foot.”

  Lucius glanced at Claudia. “Yes, so I have been told.” He put Doros down. “Is he telling this to everyone?”

  “No, my husband, he only feels free to talk about it with us. He has been cautioned not to speak of it outside our family.”

  “Good. See that he doesn’t. I have work to do. Good night, my son. Sleep well.”

  “Yes, Pater.” Doros watched his father leave the room, and when the door closed, he ran to his mother. “Pater came to see me.”

  “Yes, Doros, your father came to see you. Now it is time for bed.” She motioned to Hotep, who took the little boy’s hand and led him to his bed.

  Claudia suddenly felt weary. The strain of keeping an even balance between her husband and what she believed was taking its toll on her. She had to be careful not to say too much, not to criticize when Lucius made a bad decision, to encourage him. She no longer worshiped the household gods and had the small statue of Venus removed from their room. She longed for another child, but month after month passed by and there had been no pregnancy. She prayed to the Most High God, but her womb was closed.

  As Hotep helped her prepare for bed, she couldn’t shake the sorrow that seemed to overwhelm her, and the feeling that something was coming that would change her world.

  The dream came again, the intensity and vividness of it was overwhelming. There were voices shouting and the face of the Teacher covered in blood and looking at her with such compassion, she wept. It was as if he wanted her to help him and she was helpless. Angry men shook their fists at him and hurled insults. Yet the Teacher stood immobile through it all, silent as one of the stone gods in the patio. She woke up during the night drenched in perspiration.

  Hotep came to her bedside. “Domina, you cried out. Are you all right?”

  She rubbed her forehead with one hand. “It was only a dream, Hotep.”

  “The same dream?”

  “Yes, the same dream. Someone is planning to hurt Jesus, I’m sure of it. I cannot help him. In the dream my hands are frozen at my side . . .” She lay back down. “Go back to sleep, Hotep, it was only a dream.”

  The maidservant left, and Claudia, in spite of the turmoil in her mind, fell into a deep sleep again.

  37

  The sun rose slowly, pushing the shadows back and spilling over the walls of the sleeping city as Lucius stood at the window of his quarters. Passover began today and there were always incidents. With millions of people crowding Jerusalem, he dreaded the day. He could only hope his soldiers, posted visibly throughout the city, would be a deterrent to lawbreakers.

  He looked at the city without seeing it, his mind tossing with questions. He’d lain awake for a long time, thinking of the words of his wife. Who was this Jesus anyway—a rabbi who mesmerized the people with his words, who miraculously healed those who came to him with their ailments? His spies told stories of Jesus even casting out demons. He had been in Judea long enough to learn that the Jewish priests had elaborate exorcism rituals. This man merely commanded demons to leave and they left the body of the possessed. Where did he get his power?

  He would have put these incidents down to sorcery or magic of some kind, but there was the witness in his own household. How could he deny the healing of his son? Born with a deformed foot and destined to be a cripple the rest of his life, Doros now walked with two normal feet. What power did this man have? How did Jesus do these things? He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration.

  Cautious of any group that would threaten the peace of Judea, Lucius had poured over every report on this rabbi during the last three years. He’d looked diligently for evidence that Jesus was stirring up the people for a rebellion against Rome, but there was no sign of that. Instead there were stories from his own hardened soldiers—of thousands fed with a few fish and loaves of bread, blind men given back their sight. One man had been born blind. He had no eyes! Yet Jesus laid hands on his face and gave him new eyes. By the gods, no human being could do such things!

  His reverie was interrupted by an urgent knocking on his door. It was his tribune.

  The man saluted. “Excellency, there is a delegation of the Jews outside the gate of the palace. They say they cannot come in because of Passover and defilement.”

  He sighed. “What do they
want this time?”

  “They have a prisoner, Excellency. They want you to sentence him.”

  He strolled through the palace with the tribune. “That I can do.” Perhaps it would put these troublesome Jews in good humor and alleviate any trouble.

  He stepped outside the palace and faced the priests. “What accusation are you bringing against the prisoner?”

  The priests looked at each other. “If he were not a malefactor, we would not have delivered him up to you.”

  A typical reply he’d dealt with before. “Then take and deal with him according to your law. Why bring him to me?”

  “We cannot do it ourselves. We want you to decree the death penalty for him, and we are forbidden to put a man to death.”

  “Let me see the prisoner.”

  They brought the man forward, and as Lucius saw who their prisoner was, a jolt went through his body. It was the Teacher, Jesus. Dismayed, Lucius ignored the curses and shouts of the rabble as for the first time he looked into the face of the man who had healed his son.

  The rabbi stood silently, almost serenely, and in his eyes Lucius saw only kindness and compassion. In the midst of a storm of protest, he was an island of calm. There was a dignity about him that gave Lucius pause. He had the bearing of a king.

  His mind surged again with memories of the stories he’d heard—from the centurion and others. Claudia called him the Son of God. She believed that. He must be a god to cause twisted flesh to right itself—toes to become normal. Claudia had witnessed the miracle, along with Hotep, the steward, Chuza, and his wife, Joanna. A great weight settled on his heart. He sensed something here he was totally unprepared for.

  He drew himself up. “I wish a formal charge against this man.”

  The priests looked at him in disbelief and then at each other. To his chagrin, Lucius realized that to keep the peace he’d usually gone along with their decisions. The rabble shouted in the background as one priest came forward.

  “Excellency, it is best you accept our decision in this matter. Too many questions are not necessary.”

  Lucius forced down a bolt of rage and clenched his fists. How dare they tell him what he should do? He directed his gaze at Jesus again. He had learned to read people well, and it was obvious that the man was innocent of any charges they were bringing against him. He could not take his eyes away from the face before him. His mind raced. He could not hand Jesus over to his enemies. He could not face his wife or his son.

  The leading priest spoke up. “We found this man perverting the nation and forbidding to give tribute to Caesar, saying that he himself is Christ, a king.”

  Lucius turned to Jesus for his reaction to their charges, but the man did not respond to any of them.

  Any of the three charges alone would make the prisoner guilty of treason. Yet Lucius suspected all were without foundation. Tiberius dealt harshly with traitors, real or imagined. Many in Rome were victims of the emperor’s reprisals. Even the slightest hint of treason sent the emperor into a frenzy of retaliation. Judea was a volatile province. Tiberius would expect him to deal quickly with such a charge.

  He nodded to his tribune. “Bring the prisoner into the judgment hall. I wish to question him privately.”

  The priests hung back as Jesus shuffled forward and was escorted into the Praetorium to come face-to-face with Lucius.

  When they were alone, Lucius asked quietly, “Are you the King of the Jews?”

  Jesus answered, “It is as you say.”

  “So you are a king?”

  “You say rightly that I am a king. For this cause I was born, and for this cause I have come into the world, that I should bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.”

  Lucius sighed heavily. The man talked in riddles. “And what is truth?” He looked into the face of Jesus, his voice low. “You healed my son.”

  “Yes.”

  “You knew whose son he was, yet you healed him.”

  Jesus stood there with no shred of anger or accusation. He was under condemnation by the Sanhedrin, yet it was Lucius who felt he was the condemned man. The Teacher’s destiny was surely death if the Jews had their way, and Jesus seemed resigned to the inevitable. Lucius listened to the cries of the rabble outside the palace. “Do you not hear the things they testify against you?”

  Jesus did not answer and Lucius shook his head slowly, marveling at the man’s composure under the circumstances.

  He had no choice but to escort Jesus back outside.

  Lucius faced the crowd. “I find no fault in this man.” He had rendered his judgment. It should have ended there. He knew he should free Jesus and dismiss the rabble, but they continued to accuse the prisoner.

  The lead priest stepped forward, his face twisted with anger. The governor had not gone along with their plan. “He stirs up the people, teaching throughout all Judea, beginning from Galilee to this place.”

  At the mention of Galilee, Lucius rubbed his chin. “Is this man a Galilean?”

  When they nodded yes, Lucius folded his arms. “Take him to Herod. This prisoner is under his jurisdiction.”

  Totally frustrated, the leaders jerked on the ropes binding Jesus and, muttering, hauled him away to Herod.

  When they had gone, Lucius was handed a tablet. It was from his wife and read, “Have nothing to do with that righteous man. I have suffered much in a dream because of him.”

  He turned and saw Claudia standing in the shadows, watching him. Her face was stark with fear and something else—anguish.

  He went to her, seeking to find the right words to comfort her, but all he could say was, “Those fools are mad with jealousy. I can do nothing with them, they are bent on his blood.”

  “Lucius, what do you mean you can do nothing? You have rendered judgment. He is innocent of their charges.”

  He sighed. “Yes, I know, but I’ve sent him to Herod. Perhaps he can persuade them to release the rabbi. He told me once he admired Jesus and wanted to see him. I cannot take a chance on this crowd becoming violent.”

  He led her to a private area of the patio and sat with her.

  “Lucius, you know as well as I do that they have totally ignored their own laws. They took him last night in the Garden of Gethsemane where he had gone with his disciples to sleep. They didn’t give him a trial. The Sanhedrin just passed judgment. They found him guilty. No trial date was set or any of the rights of their laws followed. Joanna told me what the Jewish law says and they have ignored it. Everything about this arrest is illegal.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t understand why he does not fight this. It is as if he is resigned to his fate. He doesn’t deny the charges—in fact, he says nothing in his defense.” Lucius waved a hand. “He says nothing at all.”

  A servant brought them some refreshments, some cheese and diluted wine, but neither of them were hungry. All they could do now was wait and see what Herod would do.

  Claudia rose suddenly. “I cannot understand this, Lucius.” And with a sob, hurried upstairs. He started to follow her, but turned to his study instead. He could not let her emotions sway him. His role as governor was at stake here. Yet, he shivered as a sense of impending doom brushed over his soul.

  Toward midday, the tribune entered Lucius’s study where he was going over some scrolls, glancing through them yet not reading them at all.

  “They are back, Excellency. His Majesty, King Herod, has returned the prisoner to you.”

  “And his verdict?”

  “He found no cause for the charges against him.”

  Lucius swore. This was getting complicated. So the old fox could not find him guilty either. Perhaps when this sorry incident was over, he should make an effort to solidify their friendship. With reluctance, he gathered himself and went out to the waiting crowd. Putting on an air of disdain, he addressed the priests.

  “You have brought this man to me as one who misleads the people. And indeed, having examined him in your presence, I have found n
o fault in this man concerning those things of which you accuse him. Neither did Herod, for nothing deserving of death has been done by him.” Lucius now rendered the third verdict of “not guilty.”

  The crowd roared like the beasts of the coliseum in Rome, as though deprived of their prey.

  By the gods, they were determined to kill this man! He searched frantically for an answer and an idea came. It could relieve him of this unwanted responsibility. Barabbas. The man had killed two soldiers at the time of his capture and was guilty of other heinous deeds, leading a bunch of hardened criminals, rebels that had plagued Judea for over a year. If Lucius had his way, the man would have been sliced in two when they found him, but his soldiers brought him in for trial. He’d been found guilty and was awaiting execution. Lucius smiled to himself. The man was like a beast, in stark contrast to Jesus.

  He had his soldiers bring out Barabbas, who pulled on his chains, sneering at the soldiers and cursing. They jerked him into place near Jesus. Barabbas, his tunic dirty and torn, stood defiantly, surveying the people before him from under heavy brows.

  Lucius addressed the crowd whom he suspected had been stirred up by the priests. “You have a custom that I release one prisoner to you at Passover. Which do you want me to release—this murderer who stands before you or Jesus, the Christ?” Pleased with himself and his idea, Lucius was certain the crowd would choose Jesus.

  To his shock and dismay, they began to chant, “Barabbas, Barabbas, release Barabbas!”

  He had to shout himself over the tumult. “Then what would you have me do with Jesus who is called Christ?”

  The crowd shouted back, “Let him be crucified!”

  His heart was as a stone within him. He felt helpless and defeated. He’d bluffed over the matter of the shields, but there was now no way out of this. He looked at Jesus, who stood calmly while the deafening noise swirled about him. Lucius felt his face drain of blood as he fought against the fear that rose up within him. Had he condemned a god to die?

  He sought frantically for a way to appeal to the angry mob.