Pilate's Wife: A Novel of the Roman Empire (35 page)

Recognizing the captain, a large, florid-faced man, I gave an imperious nod. "I must see my husband immediately."

"That's impossible," he said, blocking me with his broad body. "Jewish law forbids women to be here."

"My husband is the governor. This is
my
courtyard."

"The rule is clear,
Domina
. I have orders from your husband. No disturbances of any kind."

"But I have urgent business with him." The guard stood firm. "Out of my way!" I demanded, pushing him with all my strength. I might as well have tried to move a stone wall.

"Be reasonable," he urged, his sunburned skin taking on a deeper flush. "The crowd is angry. You would not want to inflame them further."

Peering around his broad shoulder, I glimpsed Jesus. He stood, wrists bound, encircled by accusers. Someone had wrapped a scarlet cloak about his shoulders. Across his brow was a crown of thorns.

I gasped.
My dream was already coming true!

The High Priest Caiaphas confronted Pilate. "This man is accused of corrupting our people. He calls himself a king."

My husband looked up from a scroll and regarded Jesus quizzically. I knew that calm, noncommittal expression. "Well--are you a king, the king of the Jews?"

I strained to hear the reply.

"If you say that I am," Jesus said softly, as noncommittal as Pilate.

My husband leaned forward, his gaze curious as he studied the prisoner. "You have heard their accusations. Have you nothing to say?"

"Do you want to know this for yourself or because others have spoken against me?" Jesus asked.

I held my breath. Jesus' manner seemed strangely calm, without defenses, almost provocative.

Pilate looked at him sharply. "Am I a Jew? Is it not your people, your chief priests, who brought you here? What have you done to provoke them?"

Jesus continued to regard him almost tranquilly. "They persecute me for reasons of their own."

My husband's gaze shifted briefly to Caiaphas and his father-in-law, Annas, who stood scowling, arms folded across their chests. Turning back to the prisoner, Pilate asked, "And why would they do that?"

"Because I speak of the kingdom of heaven, and they talk only of this earth. I came into this world to bear witness to the truth."

"The truth." Pilate smiled. "What is truth?" he asked, raising an ironic brow.

As Jesus remained silent, I felt an unexpected wave of sympathy for my husband.

"I find nothing criminal about this man," Pilate said, turning to Caiaphas. "Take him and judge him according to your Law."

"You Romans do not allow us to put a man to death," Caiaphas reminded him.

"Death?" Pilate looked startled. "This harmless dreamer does not deserve death."

Caiaphas struggled visibly to keep his voice calm. "This 'harmless dreamer' travels throughout the whole of Judaea and Galilee inciting people with his blasphemy."

"You must go,
Domina,
" the guard whispered hoarsely, gesturing toward a group of priests who had noticed me and were muttering among themselves. One priest was pointing at me. "Do you want to set off a rebellion?"

"I must speak with my husband," I insisted, looking about frantically. Clearly Pilate was the one reasoning mind against a rabid mob. A thought occurred to me. "Bring me a tablet and stylus. I will write to him."

The guard towered over me. Chin up, I glared back at him. Finally, he looked away. "Withdraw then," he conceded. "Move back now or I'll have you carried out."

I stepped back from the archway to the anteroom where Rachel watched.

"The guard is right. It is dangerous to be here," she said, her eyes wide and frightened.

"Oh, Rachel, you do not understand. You cannot. You have not seen the things I have seen or heard the words, those awful words. Executing Jesus would be a travesty. He is a good man who wants only peace. My dreams tell me that his death will be the beginning of endless war and misunderstanding. A great darkness will come over the world. No one will remember what Jesus really said and the name Pontius Pilate will live on in some dreadful way. I must stop it."

A servant came with a tablet and stylus. I snatched them from him, my heart pounding wildly as I struggled for words. How could I possibly describe what I had seen in my dream? I could not and time was running out.

Hurriedly, I scrawled: "Pilate--I warn you, have nothing to do with that innocent man. I have had painful dreams because of him." I handed the scroll to the captain. "Deliver this directly into my husband's hands. Do it now."

At the guard's insistence, Rachel and I remained in the anteroom. The angry voices in the courtyard grew louder, I felt the tension mounting. Finally, I could stand the suspense no longer and began to inch my way back toward the archway. The guard watched my advance, his mouth set in a grim line. I placed a finger across my lips, whispering, "Please. I will stay back out of sight."

Pilate banged the flat of his sword against the table to quiet the impatient crowd. I saw my tablet open on the table before him.

"You brought this man, Jesus, to me, but I find nothing criminal about him." He paused, looking at the angry crowd assembled before him. "Perhaps he does not perfectly appreciate the authority of Rome. For that I will teach him a lesson that he will not forget, but then I will set him free. Jesus has done nothing to merit death."

"No!" Caiaphas growled. His angry cry was picked up by possibly a hundred men who pressed closer to Pilate.

My heart raced. What was he to do? Roman law was inherently equitable. If Jesus had been a citizen of Rome, he could have taken his case to Caesar himself. Even as a mere Judaean subject, he was entitled to justice from the governor. Pilate's duty was clear, yet I knew that fulfilling it might jeopardize Rome's sovereignty and cost my husband dearly.

"It is the custom to set one prisoner free each year at Passover time," Pilate reminded the court. "As a gesture of my good will, I will release Jesus, 'king of the Jews.'"

My blood tingled with relief and pride. It was a master stroke. Pilate had not only freed an innocent man, but he had reminded the unruly mob of Rome's strength and power. What had the ruler of the world to fear from a simple rabbi? How clever! In that moment I was as proud of him as the day we were married.

But even as these thoughts raced through my mind, the crowd grew even uglier. "Free Barabbas!" someone called out. "Give us Barabbas!" The ringleaders picked up the cry. Soon the whole crowd was shouting: "Barabbas! Barabbas!" as though acclaiming a hero.

"Barabbas! That murderous scum!" the captain of the guard, standing in front of me, muttered.

My heart sank as I saw Pilate's shoulders sag. "It is over," I whispered. "Nothing can save Jesus now."

"Then what am I to do with your king?" I heard Pilate ask.

"Crucify him!" the people shouted almost as one.

"But what crime has he committed?"

"Crucify him!" they cried again.

Pilate looked about the crowded court. Not one man came forward to speak for Jesus.

As my husband hesitated, Caiaphas moved closer, a warning implicit in his voice. "If you set this man free, you are no friend to Caesar. Anyone who calls himself a king is against Rome. Tiberius is our ruler and no one else."

"Very well," Pilate said at last. "His blood is on your hands, not mine." He signaled to an attendant. "Water. Bring it now in a bowl." The noisy courtyard quieted. I stood perfectly still, watching, waiting. Every eye was on Pilate as he plunged his hands into the basin. "I wash my hands of the innocent blood of this man."

Rachel tugged at my arm. "Come,
Domina,
we should leave."

Tears blinded me as I allowed myself to be led away. Even as I had striven to avert fate, I had been no more than a fly on the wall. I thought of Miriam and Mary. Oh, my Isis, how could they bear it! Excited conversation rippled through the courtyard. I turned back, pushed my way through the archway. What difference did it make now if I was seen? People stood in silent groups, waiting. Standing on tiptoe, I saw Pilate pick up my tablet. He was erasing the wax with the blunt end of the stylus. An impatient muttering spread though the courtyard as he began to write a new message. The palace guards raised their swords threateningly at the protesters. When Pilate had finished, he held up the stylus.

The mob's angry grumbling began in earnest as spectators surged closer to the bench, struggling to see.

"What did he write?" I asked the guard.

The burly man pressed forward. "By Jupiter." He nodded approvingly. "The governor knows how to put them in their place."

"What did he write?" I repeated.

"Jesus of Nazareth, king of the Jews."

"Carve this on his cross," Pilate ordered Caiaphas. "Carve it in Aramaic, Greek, and Latin."

The high priest's face went livid. "You cannot write that! Say instead 'He
said
he was king of the Jews'."

Pilate regarded him coolly. "I have written what I have written."

T
he stairs echoed under my feet. The palace felt deserted. Was everyone down in the courtyard watching that horrid spectacle? I shuddered at the memory of the guards closing in around Jesus. He had been beaten. I saw him stagger. I must not think...I hurried faster as though a sanctuary awaited me in my chambers.

It did not.

"Try to rest,
Domina,
" Rachel urged when we reached the anteroom of my apartments. "You slept so little last night."

Rest. Would I ever rest again?

I wanted only to be alone, but when the door at last closed, I knew there would be no such thing as solitude. From every direction memories besieged me. They could not be eluded. All that I had loved, all that I had lost. My beloved family, Holtan, and now this new...What meaning was there in any of it? How was I to go on? I rose and walked to the shrine I had created for Isis. Kneeling before her image, I prayed silently. What is your plan for me? Tell me, show me, and give me the strength to do thy will...

How long I knelt there I do not know, but slowly I became aware that someone was pounding at the door. In the distance I heard a woman screaming. Now what? I wondered, rising. Moving reluctantly, I hesitated before throwing back the bolt. There in the passageway was Miriam, struggling frantically as two guards dragged her from the door. Others stood watching with swords drawn.

"Release her immediately!" I ordered.

The men fell back but kept their weapons firmly fixed on Miriam.

"Please, Claudia, help me!" she cried. "I must speak with you alone."

I put my arm around Miriam, pulling her into my chamber. Before the guards could say or do anything more, I slammed and bolted the door.

"My dear," I said, settling Miriam on a couch, placing a pillow behind her, "I tried, I truly tried, but what was Pilate to do? You may think him all powerful, but that is not true. There are hundreds of thousands of pilgrims packed into this city right now. My husband has only a few hundred men in the whole country. It would be days before reinforcements arrived from Syria."

"Jesus can still be saved."

A chill of apprehension swept over me. "What do you want of me?"

"You know about herbs and potions--secret things." Her face was white and strained, her eyes wild. "You can give Jesus something."

Give him something! What madness was this? "Miriam, Miriam, do you not think that I tried everything I knew to save Holtan? In the end it was useless."

"Please," she begged, her arms outstretched. "I know no one in Jerusalem. You are his only chance."

I turned away, unable to face her desperate eyes.

"I have a plan," she insisted, her manner frantic. "When the Sabbath comes the guards will be forced to cut Jesus down. They will think him dead, but with your help he will only
seem
dead. I will claim his body and watch over it until the therapeuta from the Essene monastery comes. His healing skills can save Jesus, I know it. The Essenes will hide him. No one will know. It will work, I know it will. Claudia," she pleaded, down on her knees now, "you have got to help me!"

I
RAISED
M
IRIAM TO HER FEET, COMFORTED HER IN MY ARMS. MY
dream had revealed Jesus' death so clearly. Mary had known his fate as well. I recalled her deep melancholy at the wedding. How could any mother live with such a burden?

But suppose my dream was false...Suppose I could change the outcome of what I had seen...Could that be possible?...Was it in my power to save Jesus?...Passiflora and arnica would calm him while soothing the pain...Stavesacres might make him appear dead. "How would you get it to him?" I asked.

"I can do it! Please, Claudia, just make the potion. It is the only way." Her eyes lit with hope as she grasped my hands.

So little hope, yet if I did not try...

I
WAS ALONE IN MY APARTMENTS WHEN IT HAPPENED
. S
TRUGGLING TO
escape the ugly pictures that beset me, Jesus' agony, nails...nails driven into his flesh and Miriam kneeling before his cross, suffering with him, praying for a miracle. Had she been able to administer the potion? Was it working?
Could
it work?

I must not have noticed the darkening sky. Suddenly a crash of thunder shook the palace. Hurrying out onto the parapet, I saw that the sun had vanished. A great wind came up, breaking awnings and bending trees. The sky turned black. The Temple, revealed in a brilliant flash of lightning, rocked before my eyes.

Rushing back inside I saw the lamp stand sway and crash. The marble floor shifted beneath my feet. "Marcella!" I cried aloud. Feeling my way like a blind person down the darkened hallway, I finally reached her door. My baby was screaming while the nurse beside her struggled to rekindle a fallen lamp.

Taking Marcella in my arms, I stroked her hair, murmuring reassurance. The temblor was over as quickly as it had begun, but the sky remained dark. I cradled my little girl, soothing her, repeating words that I hoped were comforting. How long I rocked Marcella, singing lullabies and chattering foolish stories, I do not know. An eternity. Finally, I heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. Someone was shouting orders. Light flooded the room. Pilate stood in the doorway flanked by two torch-bearing slaves. "
Tata!
" Marcella cried, reaching toward him.

Pilate crossed the room in an instant, his arms encircling me as I held Marcella, holding us both tightly.

"What awful thing is this!" the nurse cried hysterically. "What evil have we done to cause the gods to punish us in this way?"

Pilate glared at her. "It was an earthquake and an eclipse, nothing more. Intelligent people--the only kind fit to care for children--know that." Turning back to Marcella, he gently stroked her hair. "It's just the moon passing between the sun and earth--a natural thing that happens from time to time."

As he spoke, Marcella's sobs ceased. Soon she wriggled free from both our arms and settled herself on the floor. "Let's make an eclipse," she said, assembling her clay blocks. "The blue one will be the moon..."

Pilate and I knelt beside her. He was moving the clay blocks as she instructed him. "I love you,
Tata,
" Marcella said unexpectedly. "We missed you, Mama. Don't you love
Tata,
too?"

To my great relief, someone knocked at the door. Pilate scowled in annoyance, but I leaped to open it. There stood Rachel, white-faced, eyes wide with fright. I slipped outside to speak with her.

"Terrible things are happening,
Domina,
" she gasped breathlessly. "Rock tombs have shattered--the bones, the bones, they are spilling out. I was in the anteroom when people began to pour in with awful stories. The great hanging curtain in the Temple--it's been rent from top to bottom."

"See to the slaves," I instructed her. "Calm them." I would have gone back inside Marcella's room, but Rachel stopped me.

"There is something else," she added reluctantly. "Miriam has sent a man here to plead with
Dominus
. He begs a favor."

I looked about the hallway, now bright with lamps. "Where is this person?"

Rachel's expression was apprehensive. "He waits by your apartments."

"Pilate will not want to be disturbed. I will talk with the one you have brought."

Rachel blocked my path. "The Sanhedrin is always spying--Herod, too--looking for ways to discredit
Dominus
with the emperor. You can do nothing but get yourself into more trouble with him." She paused. "Jesus is dead."

Dead...so soon? Had Miriam given him the potion? Could it be working?
"Who says this?" I asked, my heart pounding. "How do they know?"

"They say that a soldier thrust his sword into Jesus' side."

Poor Miriam, her frantic scheme for naught.
Forcing back the quick tears that stung my eyes, I pushed Rachel gently away. The man stood outside my chambers, slight, barely into his twenties. His white robes were well cut, but wrinkled and badly stained. Was it blood? I wondered. He turned toward me, large eyes entreating.

"Who are you?" I asked. "Why have you come?"

"My name is Joseph of Arimathea. I am a disciple of Jesus."

"How dare you come here?" It was Pilate who spoke. "A disciple, you say?" he asked, striding forward. "Haven't I seen you before? In the Temple, perhaps?" He studied Joseph suspiciously.

"Yes,
Dominus
." Joseph's voice was scarcely above a whisper. "I came to Jerusalem to become a priest."

"But instead you have followed Jesus?" I asked, looking into dark eyes, level with my own.

"Keep out of this, Claudia!" Pilate warned, his voice rising. "Go inside and close the door."

I didn't move.

Joseph's pale face flushed. "I have been a secret disciple--too afraid to speak out."

"And now?" Pilate asked, his impatience mounting. "Why are you here? What do you want?"

"Your soldiers have taken Jesus' body. They bartered his clothing among themselves. The body will be thrown into a ditch--a pauper's grave. If--if only I might have it. I have a tomb ready. Please..." He looked from Pilate to me. Those large eyes again, imploring. What could I do?

Pilate shook his head. "What happened may have been unnecessary, even unfortunate, but Jesus was still a criminal. The sooner this matter is over the better. There are rules to follow."

I moved forward, looking directly into Pilate's eyes. "But they were not followed, were they? The trial was a travesty. Perhaps this time...this rule...could be broken..."

We stared at each other. Slowly his expression softened. He gestured impatiently at Joseph. "Very well, take the body! Do with it as you will. Tell the guards you have my permission. I want to hear no more of this."

Joseph flashed me a grateful look. He bowed several times and backed away down the corridor.

Turning quickly, hoping to escape Pilate and his inevitable questions about my trip to Caesarea, I entered my chambers. Before I could close the door behind me, he was inside. Pilate seated himself on a couch and reached for a carafe of wine. His hand shook as he poured.

"That man--Jesus--I would have set him free, but there were too many dissenters. Caiaphas had the court packed. They were out for blood." Pilate lifted the wineglass to his lips, his face flushed.

"I know, I saw."

"You were there?" Pilate looked at me in surprise. "Claudia, you know the danger."

I shrugged.
What is truth
? Pilate had asked Jesus. Indeed, what did truth matter now? "The dream I warned you of meant nothing," I assured my husband. "I scarcely remember it. What difference will any of this make in a week?" Forcing a smile, I added, "If the day ever comes that as many pray to Jesus for healings as they do to Asklepios, perhaps you will have reason to regret your decision."

He laughed too heartily. "You do have a way with you, Claudia. You can always make me laugh."

I
T WOULD BE TWO DAYS BEFORE
I
SAW MY HUSBAND AGAIN
. J
ERUSALEM
was in turmoil.

Numerous riots erupted, Pilate hard put to suppress them. To my knowledge he slept not at all during that time. Troops were pulled in from surrounding areas to maintain order in the angry, troubled city. Many who had heard Jesus preach believed that his execution was in some way linked to the earthquake and eclipse. Had he not railed against the Temple? At the insistence of Caiaphas, Pilate posted guards around Jesus' tomb. A boulder was rolled against the entrance and the seal of Rome affixed. All this I heard from Rachel, who, despite my admonitions, went out into the fearful city to gather information.

Where was Miriam? I wondered again and again. Then late Saturday evening she appeared at the door to my chambers looking haggard beyond belief. Her face was blotched, her eyes so red and swollen that I wondered how she could see.

"I thought I was so clever," she told me, her voice tight and hoarse. "I tricked a soldier into giving Jesus the potion. The wretched man thought it was vinegar--Jesus was crying for water. Neither of them had any idea what he was drinking. I thought I had won. The Sabbath was approaching when Jesus lapsed into a coma. He looked dead, but I knew better. Only a little longer, I thought, but then another soldier came. He took his sword and--It is over."

She swayed and might have fallen had I not reached out to steady her. Carefully I led her to a couch while Rachel mixed water with a little wine. "Stay here," I said, pushing the tangled hair back from Miriam's face. "Stay here and rest."

"No, no, I cannot," she said, tossing her head fitfully. "I only came to tell you what happened, to thank you for trying...I must go. Mary and Joanna are waiting. They were with me at the cross. We and Joseph were the only ones...tomorrow early we will go to rub spices into his dear body and wrap it in linen."

"But the tomb has been sealed, the boulder is far too big for you to move."

"Tomorrow I will find a way."

It was useless to argue. I placed a
palla
about Miriam. "Tomorrow, yes, but tonight try to sleep."

To my surprise, even as she protested, Miriam drifted into a troubled slumber. I sat by her couch long into the night, but eventually slept as well. When I awakened she was gone. Bright sunlight poured in from the balcony. Sunday morning. What would the day bring?

I determined to spend as much time as possible with Marcella. We practiced writing her name together on a new tablet and played with her three kittens. "Tell me about Ariadne," she asked. It was her favorite story as it had once been mine. We lounged on the sun-drenched balcony far above the city. Marcella, perched on my lap, looked up. "Would Ariadne weave a thread for me, Mama? Would she show me the way?"