The Redemption of Pontius Pilate (21 page)

“I can and I will,” said Gratus. “I am more ready to be out of this place than you can possibly imagine! Let's see, what else do I need to tell you—oh, yes! Festivals! Jewish religion demands that all the faithful who can must gather in Jerusalem at their great temple to celebrate their high holy days. It is always good to have a strong presence in the city at that time—it seems to be the moment that trouble is most likely to flare up. Now, they do not like having Gentiles in their holy city during festivals, so I usually keep most of my troops inside the Fortress of Antonia except for the necessary patrols. That way, if trouble breaks out, I can respond quickly and forcefully.”

Pilate nodded. That was the first piece of useful advice the toad had given him. After a few more minutes of discussion, he asked to be shown the governor's personal quarters. The chambers were luxurious enough, but Valerius Gratus seemed to have the personal hygiene of a pig, and not a very neat one at that. The bedclothes were stained and stale-smelling, there were scrolls and official reports scattered haphazardly about the room, along with the governor's personal reading material—which, from the quick glimpse that Pilate got before Valerius rolled the scrolls up and stuffed them into his trunk, seemed to be primarily erotic poetry and stories.

To give the man his due, however, he did vacate the chamber quickly. Two trunks held all his personal effects, and a large, locked strongbox in the corner contained his valuables. Within a half hour, Valerius told Pilate he was done.

“What about the furniture and bedding?” Pilate asked.

“Do what you will with it,” said Gratus. “I have far nicer furnishings at my villa in Rome.”

Pilate looked around the room in disgust. The furniture was old and battered, and he would never ask his wife to sleep in that bed. Perhaps some shopping would be good for her, he thought. He told Democles to bring her from the ship and have their effects delivered. While his servant was gone, he called in a couple of legionaries from the governor's personal detail.

They were unshaven and hung over, their uniforms wrinkled and stained. Time to start work, thought Pilate as he looked at his men.

“Are you two what passes for soldiers around here?” he snapped angrily.

“Who wants to know?” grumbled the older one. Pilate slapped him, snapping his head halfway round.

“Your new prefect, that's who!” he snapped. “You call yourselves Romans? Look at you! Slovenly, lazy, unshaven, uniforms a disgrace! Your governor was a pig, so you thought you could get away with being pigs too, is that it? Well, things are changing, starting NOW!”

“Yes, sir!” said the two legionaries. He had their full attention now.

“First of all, I want you to haul all this furniture and the curtains and bedding out of here and burn them. Then I want both of you to go down to the barracks and shave, then bathe, and wash your uniforms. Tell all the legionaries that I will be inspecting the ranks tomorrow, and I had better find them well turned out, or there will be hell to pay! Make sure they know that there is a new prefect in town!” he said. They got to work very quickly as he sat in the windowsill and watched. At least, he mused, he had not lost his talent for commanding troops. It was something he had worked hard to develop, and he hoped it would help turn the province around.

The soldiers were just hauling out the last of the previous occupant's soiled personal effects when Procula Porcia came in with her maid, Stephenia, and Democles in tow, carrying one of the trunks. She cast a wary eye around the chamber.

“I see our predecessor favored a rather Spartan lifestyle,” she finally said.

“More a bacchanalian one,” he replied. “I had his furniture burned—it looked as if you might get the pox just touching it! There are some large markets between here and the harbor, though. Could I prevail upon you to purchase us some furnishings and bedding, my dear?”

Porcia looked at him. Her grief for their daughter was enormous and still overwhelming at times, but their loss had driven them closer together rather than further apart, and Pilate was very grateful for that. Life could be short and hard in the Roman Empire, but the loss of a child who had survived all the dangers of infancy was still heartbreaking. Many marriages would not have survived such a loss. Porcia finally nodded.

“I suppose it would do me some good to be busy,” she said finally.

He tossed her a purse full of sesterces. “Be frugal, my dear,” he said. “This is not Spain. We shall make no fortune here, I fear.”

“Have I ever wasted your money?” she asked, and left the room before he could answer.

After she left, Pilate walked down the corridor and outside. He spotted a couple of servants and ordered them to wash and scrub out the governor's chambers, then strode over toward the barracks. The two soldiers were still burning Valerius' old furniture, and several of their comrades were watching, laughing and poking fun at them as they worked. Pilate decided to see what they found so funny.

“Legionaries!” he said. The two men who were burning the furniture and bedding snapped to attention. The others slouched to a semi-erect posture. He looked at the men he had disciplined earlier, and nodded. These men were soldiers at heart, he thought. They had just been stuck with a governor who had allowed them to forget their training. He walked up to the biggest of the five who had been spectators and looked him up and down. The man was a head taller than Pilate, and muscular enough, but there was a sheath of fat over his belly and an air of indolence which told Pilate he had traded on his size alone for too long. But the others were watching him with an air of respect and awe, so it was clear that he was the top dog in the barracks. Good, Pilate thought. Breaking him would bring the others into line quickly enough.

“So, are you a soldier of Rome, big man, or are you just a circus freak who stole a legionary's uniform?” he asked with a sneer.

The burly soldier glared at him and spat on the ground. “I am three times more a soldier than any rump-kissing Roman Senator!” he said with a laugh.

“If I were a rump-kisser, as you so eloquently put it, I would not have been sent to this particular posting, now would I?” Pilate asked in a deceptively soft voice.

The big man looked at him contemptuously. “Maybe you just weren't doing it right,” he said, and then after a long pause, added: “Sir!”

“Very amusing,” said Pilate, turning his back on the man. Then he drove his elbow backward and up as hard and fast as he could, catching the unsuspecting behemoth square under the chin and snapping his head back hard. His arms flailed out to grab Pilate, who had already spun out of his reach.

“Mentula!!”
snapped the legionary. “I'll send you back to Rome in pieces!” With that he lunged forward, and Pilate snapped his foot up in a straight-toed kick to the man's solar plexus, knocking his wind out. As he doubled over, Pilate grabbed his greasy locks of hair and yanked the man's head forward and down, where it collided with Pilate's knee, which he was bringing up as hard and fast as he could. The soldier's nose crunched audibly, and blood gushed from his face as he crumpled to the ground, holding onto his middle and groaning. The other four soldiers looked at Pilate with shock and fear—this was not the outcome they had expected. Pilate gave them a wolfish grin.

“Anyone else want to try their luck?” he said.

“Not on your life!” said one of them. “If you can take down Brutus Appius that quickly, I doubt any of us would stand much chance.”

“Brutus Appius, eh?” Pilate asked, nudging the doubled up giant at his feet. The big man gave a groan and nodded.

“Well, my name is Lucius Pontius Pilate, and I am the new prefect of Judea,” he said. “I have commanded legions against Germans, Celts, and pirates in my time, and I've probably seen more combat than any of you. You men have been allowed to forget that you are legionaries in the service of the Roman Empire. Trust me, you will not be allowed to forget it again! Tomorrow morning there will be an inspection of all the troops here in Caesarea. Your faces will be shaven, your uniforms will be clean, and you will carry yourselves like soldiers! Is that clear?”

“Yes sir!” said five terrified voices at once. Pilate smiled inwardly. Legionaries were much like children, he thought. They will push their boundaries as far as they are allowed to, but once they are reined in, they become as docile as sheep.

“Dismissed!” he shouted, and they scurried into the barracks.

Brutus Appius slowly climbed to his feet and surveyed his new commander. “I suppose you will want to have me flogged?” he said in a rather tired voice.

Pilate looked the big man in the eye and saw resignation there. “No,” he said. “You were acting as your previous commander allowed you to act, and in a manner I am sure you have gotten away with for some time. Are you going to be insolent and disrespectful to me in the future?”

“No, sir!” said Appius.

“Then I see no need for further punishment,” said Pilate. “Do you know why I singled you out?” he asked.

“Because I am biggest and strongest,” replied the legionary without hesitation. “If you can take me down, the others will fear you and obey you.”

Pilate nodded in appreciation. “So there is a brain inside that large and thick
calvarium
of yours!” he said. “Excellent. Tell me, Brutus Appius, how is this army supplied with centurions?”

“Poorly, sir,” said the big man. “Our
primus pilus
, Longinus, is a good man and a good soldier, but he could not stand Prefect Gratus, and so was given permission to live in a village not far from here, on the north shore of Lake Tiberius. Other than him, we have about twenty other centurions, some of middling quality, many poor, and two who are decent besides Longinus—Titus Ambrosius here in Caesarea, and Marcus Quirinius in Jerusalem.”

“How strong is the legion then?” he said. “That is not nearly enough centurions for six thousand men!”

“We are severely understrength, sir,” said Appius. “Last full count was taken two years ago, and at that time we were three centuries over four thousand. We've lost dozens of men since then. I'd be surprised if we even number four thousand now.”

Pilate was appalled. Four thousand men to control one of Rome's most rebellious provinces! This place needed some serious shaking up, he decided. Best to get the men into shape first, though, and then see how many reinforcements were needed. He looked at Brutus Appius again. The big man was watching him with curiosity, but without hostility—a sign of intelligence, Pilate decided.

“Brutus Appius, I am going to need good soldiers who are looked up to by their fellow legionaries if I am going to whip this army and this province into shape,” he said. “And I am going to need some centurions who are known and feared by the rank and file. As of now, I am appointing you to centurion's rank on a provisional basis. Your first job is to make sure that the men are ready for inspection tomorrow morning. And one more thing—send a fast rider and fetch me this Cassius Longinus. I need to take his measure quickly.”

The tall legionary looked at Pilate in wonder. “Yes, SIR!” he said, saluting neatly. “I'll get right on it!” He turned on his heel to go, and then looked back at Pilate. “You know, Prefect, that I probably could have taken you in a fair fight!” he said.

Pilate laughed. “That is exactly why I did not fight fair!” he replied.

The Roman army's newest centurion grinned at him. “You're all right, sir!” he said. “For a politician!”

“You're not bad yourself, Brutus Appius—for an inbred idiot!” The big man guffawed at that and sauntered off toward the barracks. Pilate nodded to himself as he returned to the governor's quarters. Not a bad start, he thought.

He found some unused parchment in the quartermaster's office and sat down in the windowsill of his quarters and began drafting a letter to Quintus Sullemia. He was about halfway done when two wagons pulled up in the courtyard below, both filled with furniture, fabrics, and bedding. His wife hopped out of one and began ordering the slaves to carry the goods up to their chambers—grabbing a heavy basket herself to lead by example. The sight made Pilate smile.

Before night had fallen, the chambers were set up with a new bed and crisp clean linens, a large writing desk with numerous drawers and cubbies to hold Pilate's correspondence, and a conference table with detailed maps of the province and its major cities. There was also a low table and couch for private dinners, several lovely rugs from Persia, and a complete set of goblets and flagons, as well as a few unopened amphorae of the better local wines.

Pilate sat at the new desk and finished his letter to Sullemia, then wrote a short and very businesslike letter to the Emperor, informing him that the new governor of Judea was now in place, and that his utterly incompetent predecessor was heading home to justify his mismanagement to the Senate. Finally, he added a brief postscript about his daughter's death. Knowing how fond the Emperor was of children, Pilate hoped that maybe a stab of guilt would strike Tiberius in his cold old heart. In his mind, he imagined seeing Caligula's neck bared to his sword for a moment, and smiled at the thought. It would never happen, but a man must have his fantasies, he decided.

Finally, after a late supper of warm bread, salted fish, and some delicious figs and grapes from the local market, Pilate and Porcia climbed into their new bed and lay side by side. They did not talk much these days—their grief at their daughter's death was still too fresh. But he hugged her tight and she rested her head on his shoulder as the warm breeze blew in their window from the beach a half mile away. Both of them were nearly asleep when the chamber door was pushed open, and an overwhelming odor of cheap perfume filled the room.

“I'm here, my lovely Prefect!” came a slurred feminine voice, and a stout figure approached their bed. Pilate scrambled to light the lamp, and when it flared up, he saw a fat woman wearing too much eye makeup—and not much else—blinking in the light and looking at him with an air of drunken curiosity.