"Plautus..." Strabo began, a hint of warning in his voice.
"The procurator has been up all night trying to deal with those god-cursed priests. He's been trying to make them understand that Roman law does not allow the execution of
anyone innocent of a capital crime, but they keep demanding
an execution..."
"I know, Plautus," Strabo interrupted angrily, "but that
has nothing to do with anything. Do you think that the procurator would waste so much time on that madman if he did not take our laws seriously? He could just wave his hand and send the prisoner off to his death and so save himself a good deal of aggravation, but he won't do that, because the
law is the law! And if he concerns himself with the law when
it involves this Yeshua, then he will concern himself with
the law when it involves
this miscreant here."
"Yeshua?" the prisoner asked softly. "Yeshua bar Yoshef, the prophet from
Nazareth
? He has been arrested?"
Strabo turned back to the prisoner and prepared to strike him again, but then held back as the man's words
registered on his angry, tired mind. "You know this man?" he
asked.
"I have seen him quite frequently," Chaldaeus replied. "I have listened to him preach for many years."
"I asked you if you know him," Strabo repeated tersely.
Chaldaeus sighed. "No, I have never spoken to him. I have followed him and I have watched him, but I have never
spoken to him. It did not seem that it would be of any use."
This cryptic comment was ignored by Strabo, who turned to Plautus and said, "Has the procurator interrogated any of Yeshua's followers?"
"I don't think he has," the soldier replied. "I don't
believe that any of them stayed around after the arrest."
Strabo shook his head with disgust. "There is no such thing as loyalty east of
Messina
," he muttered. "Plautus, keep an eye on this murderer. I think the procurator will want to know about him."
He turned and climbed up the dark, narrow flight of stone steps which led from the prison out onto the dusty Judean street. They had approached the building from the rear, and Strabo was not prepared for what greeted him when
he turned the corner. The courtyard outside the procurator's residence was packed with people, shouting in their strange,
guttural tongue, waving their fists, their faces contorted with hatred. At the top of the wide dais which formed the entranceway to the residence, the procurator was standing and watching the crowd with undisguised disgust, not bothering to lower himself by attempting to make himself heard above the din. Beside him stood a tall, thin man, his hands bound in front of his naked body, his beard and back covered with dried blood as fresh blood streamed from the crown of thorns which encircled his head.
Yeshua the preacher
, Strabo thought as he pushed his way roughly through the crowd. The soldiers whose shields and javelins provided an armed barrier between the dais and the courtyard helped to clear his way, and he mounted the steps toward the
procurator.
"This man would make himself king," a voice boomed from
behind him in thickly accented Greek. Strabo recognized the voice as that of Caiaphas, the corrupt high priest of the bizarre religion of this benighted people. "That is treason by Rome's own law! He merits death!"
As Strabo drew closer to
Pilatus
he heard the procurator
say to a guard, "Remain here and keep this rabble as subdued
as possible. I must think, and I cannot think in the midst
of this chaos."
Pilatus
turned and walked back into the
building. Strabo quickened his pace to catch up with him.
"My lord," the centurion called out, "we have just arrested a murderer who claims to have listened to this man on many occasions. I thought that perhaps you might wish to
interrogate
him."
Pilatus
turned and looked at Strabo. "One of his followers?"
"No, my lord, not at least by his own admission. But he
says that he has heard much of what this Yeshua has said over the past three years."
Pilatus
seated himself upon an ornately carved wooden
chair before a long marble table. "Have him sent here,
Strabo. Perhaps I will be fortunate and this prisoner of
yours will provide me with legitimate grounds for executing
this fanatic."
Strabo nodded curtly to a soldier who was standing beside the table, and this was all he needed to do to send
the soldier off to fetch the prisoner. He knew that Plautus would understand immediately who was being sent for, and so no elaboration was necessary. He turned back to
Pilatus
and
said, "I fear that I shall never learn to understand these
people, my
lord."
"Nor I, Strabo, nor I,"
Pilatus
said wearily as he poured himself a flagon of thick red wine. Strabo did not
comment on how the procurator had recently increased his intake of the
potent vintage, nor the fact that he had abandoned the Roman custom of mixing his wine with water. Strabo reasoned that having to rule as fractious and incomprehensible a people as the Jews would lead any sane man to drink too much wine, too early in the d
ay. The procurator swallowed a mouthful of the syrupy
liquid and then went on. "The orient will be our ruination,
Strabo, it will be our ruination. The Egyptians, the Jews,
the Syrians, there isn't one rational mind in the whole east
of the Empire."
"No, my lord," Strabo agreed honestly.
"From the day our fathers flooded
Italy
with Punic gold and Punic slaves we've been deceiving ourselves about our
own destiny. We should have let
Carthage
keep
North Africa
."
"Yes, my lord," Strabo agreed now dishonestly, not pointing out to his commander that Rome's power was largely
built on the ashes of
Carthage
.
"Were it not Egypt's grain, I would recommend to my
wife's
granduncle that we give the whole of the east to the
Parthians. Let them deal with these deity-intoxicated
idiots."
"Yes, my lord." Strabo knew how the Emperor Tiberius, the granduncle of Pilatus's wife, would respond to such a
suggestion. He chose not to mention it.
"What do we get from the east, besides Egyptian grain,
Strabo?"
Pilatus
asked rhetorically and then took another drink. "We get rebellion, disease, ingratitude and a plethora of absurd religions with which our spoiled and pampered ladies amuse themselves. Isis, Dionysus, Mithras...foreigner's gods for bored Romans." He shook his head sadly. "It is to weep, Strabo. It is to weep."
"Yes, my lord."
"The Roman gods don't seem to be good enough for our
silly women anymore, Strabo. Every day it seems that some
new superstition comes floating in from
Egypt
or
Syria
or
Parthia
or
Judea
. Why, my own wife is fascinated by these so-called mystery religions. Last year she was initiated into the
Isis
cult, and now she..." He turned as he heard soft uncertain footsteps approaching from the rear of the room. As if responding to his mention of her, his wife had descended from the living quarters on the floor above and was walking
slowly and unsteadily toward him. When
Pilatus
addressed her
his voice was cold and biting, utterly void of affection.
He had married her largely because of her connections to the
imperial family, and had hoped that such a marriage would serve to advance his career. Her beauty was also an incentive, but there were many beautiful women, and one did
not marry for so trivial a reason.
His coldness reflected his anger and frustration, for he, like his subordinate Strabo, felt himself ill-used by the Emperor. While others of his acquaintance resided in peaceful luxury in
Egypt
and
Greece
and Dalmatia and
Italy
itself, merrily stealing fortunes from the subject populations, Pilatus had been consigned to
Judea
, the
most notorious festering boil on the body of the Empire.
Is
it my fault
, he often asked himself,
that in the bloody
internal strife of the family of the Caesars, that I,
Pilatus
, have married into a branch out of favor with Tiberius? I should have married Drusilla
, he thought,
Caligula's sister. Now
that
would have been both profitable and safe
. He made no attempt to mask his hostility toward his wife as she approached. "Up so early, my dear?" he asked sarcastically. "I assume then that your cult held a rather
short meeting last evening? Which god is it this year, by the way? I can never remember his name..."
"Gaius," his wife said, her voice shaking and frail as she leaned against a pillar for support, "a dream...I had a
dream..."
"Oh, of that I have no doubt,"
Pilatus
said. "Poppies again, my sweet? I have told you before, Claudia, to keep to
refreshments made from grapes."
Claudia Procula, wife of Gaius Pontius Pilatus and grandneice of the Emperor Tiberius Caesar, shook her head. "Gaius,
listen to
me..."
"Some Parthian god, isn't it?" he asked casually, taking
another drink. "Azerius, Azorius, something like that...?"
"Ahura," she said weakly. "The god Ahura. Zoroaster's god. The great god. The only god."
"Ah, yes, the only god," he said smiling wickedly at Strabo. "There seem to be a great many âonly gods' in this
part of the world."
"Gaius, please," she said, beginning to weep, "I was warned in a dream, warned about this Yeshua. He is the
Saoshyant
, the chosen one of Ahura Mazda. Let him go, Gaius,
free him. If you kill him...if you kill him..."
"If I kill him, there will be one less Jew to cause trouble for me." He took yet another drink. "I sometimes think that we would be well advised to kill all of them and get it over with." Strabo did not take these last words seriously. He knew that
Pilatus
respected the rule of law
like all good Romans; still, Strabo thought, a world without
Jews is an attractive idea.
"Gaius..." Claudia pleaded, "I am begging you, I am begging you, you must release him, you must!"
Pilatus
sat back in his chair and appraised his wife. "In exchange for what, Claudia? In exchange for what? Caiaphas doesn't come out and say it, but he is offering me a quiescent, obedient city if I agree to kill this man who so openly condemns the corruption in this temple of theirs. What do you offer me if I spare him?"
She frowned. "Wh...what are you saying...?"
"It is very simple, my dear,"
Pilatus
smiled. "I married you because I had hoped that such a union would help me, give me power and wealth and influence. It has done none of those things, and I wish to be rid of you, I wish to be able to make a more useful connection."
The look on Claudia's face shifted from confusion to anger. "Divorce me?! You wouldn't dare!"
"No, of course I wouldn't,"
Pilatus
agreed. "In favor or
out, the Emperor's grandniece is still the Emperor's grandniece, and I doubt that Tiberius would appreciate it
were I to throw you
out."
He leaned forward. "But if I were
to accuse you of sedition, accuse you of conspiring against
Rome
with these Parthian religious fanatics, these Zoroastrians of yours...
Parthia
is
an enemy of
Rome
, after all...and if you would be inclined not to contest the accusation, I would be able to behead you or let you open a vein. I can be rid of you and earn the Emperor's gratitude at the same time."
She stared at him with shock and disbelief. "You must be
mad!"
"No," he shook his head calmly. "All I am saying is that if this Yeshua's life is so important to you, I'll give you the opportunity to exchange it for your own." He smiled. "All of these odd eastern religions tell you about a life of reward after death, do they not? Well, my dear Claudia, I am offering you the opportunity to ensure for yourself a place of honor in your...what was his name?...Ahura, was it?...in your Ahura's afterlife."
"Don't be ridiculous!" she said angrily.
"You do not accept my proposition, then?"
"Of course not!"
He laughed grimly. "So much for your most recent
devotion to your most recent deity." He turned as he saw the
guard dragging the prisoner toward him. "Now get out of here, Claudia, and go sacrifice a goat or something. I'm busy." He turned away from her and looked at the prisoner.
"This is he?"
Pilatus
asked Strabo.