The Redemption of Pontius Pilate (24 page)

By the time Pilate called it quits, the hour for the noon meal had long passed. The governor and the centurion walked down to the marketplace together, purchasing some bread and cured meat, as well as a bowl of figs and grapes. Rather than recline at the table in Pilate's quarters, they ate with the soldiers in the barracks. The sight of the senior centurion, whom they all knew and respected, having lunch with the Prefect on such good terms, set the men's minds at ease and erased many of the lingering doubts they had about the new man in charge. After the meal, Pilate marched them out into the courtyard and set all those not going on watch to drilling with sword and shield again. Their movements were crisper, sharper, and more professional than the day before. Longinus was obviously pleased at the change; several times he looked over at Pilate and nodded as the men demonstrated their skills.

After practicing with the men for an hour, Pilate left Longinus and Ambrosius in charge of finishing up the drills, and returned to his office to write a letter to Quintus Sullemia. However, he had barely begun when Brutus Appius, who was commanding the watch for the hour, reported that he had visitors from Jerusalem—priests, by their dress. He told Appius to have Longinus report to his chambers immediately, and then see the visitors up. If he was going to deal with the local leaders this soon, he wanted to have someone who understood them handy.

Longinus joined him momentarily, but before they had time to confer, three bearded men in black robes entered his chambers. The tallest of them approached Pilate's work desk and gave a polite bow.

“I am Joseph Caiaphas, son of Matthias, High Priest of the Temple, son-in-law of Annas the former High Priest,” he said. “I bring our express greetings and best wishes to the new Prefect and Governor of Judea.”

Pilate returned his bow. “It is good to meet you, and I hope you will convey my greetings back to the former High Priest Annas and let him know that I look forward to meeting him soon, in Jerusalem,” he said.

The second priest stepped forward and deposited a heavy bag on Pilate's desk. “On behalf of the Levites and priestly classes of Jerusalem, we present this offering and hope that the relations between the governor and the Temple can continue to be as mutually amicable and profitable as under your predecessor,” he said.

“What is this?” asked Pilate, looking in the bag and finding it to be full of gold coins.

“Your stipend, of course,” said Caiaphas. “As your predecessor pointed out to us on more than one occasion, the Empire does not pay its governors a sufficient salary to defray their expenses. So we supplement the governor's income in exchange for certain . . . considerations.”

“And what would those considerations be?” asked Pilate, his tone icy.

“Valerius Gratus always allowed our Supreme Council, the Sanhedrin, a wide degree of latitude in local governance,” explained Caiaphas. “In turn, we would keep him apprised of what situations required Roman intervention, and which ones we felt were best handled by our own ways and means.”

Pilate walked to the front of his desk, grabbed the heavy bag, and dropped it back into Caiaphas' hands. He was furious, not so much at the Jews as at Gratus, who had seemingly done nothing right while he was Prefect. No wonder the province was rebellious and ungovernable! He approached Caiaphas until his face was only a few inches away from that of the priest, who paled and stepped back until Pilate managed to corner him against the wall of his office.

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Caiaphas son of Matthias,” he said. “I work for the Senate and People of Rome, and for our Emperor, Tiberius Caesar. I do not work for you. I do not work for your father-in-law Annas. I do not work for your Sanhedrin, nor do I work for your Temple. I am here to see this province properly governed and pacified. My predecessor was a corrupt and incompetent fool. He took your gold and was happy to look the other way when you violated Roman law and policy. I am not him. While I have absolutely no problem using the governor's office to enrich myself, I will do so by the time-honored means of destroying and pillaging the enemies of Rome, and selling their wives and children into slavery. I am not for sale! But if I do want your gold, at any time . . . I will find a reason to take it!”

Caiaphas was opening and shutting his mouth in amazement, like a fish out of water—if fish had beards, Pilate thought as he finished his statement, keeping his voice icy calm the entire time, and then backing away. The astonishment on the Jewish priest's face gave way to a harder, angrier expression.

“My apologies, Pontius Pilate, if our well-intentioned offering gave offense,” he said. “It was not our intent to question your honesty, or to seem as if we wanted to give you orders. We merely desire an amicable relationship between Rome and Jerusalem. Peace is mutually profitable, while war and rebellion are sordid and unpleasant. If you are here to keep the peace, we will be your willing partners, with or without financial inducement.”

“I am here to uphold Rome's laws and traditions, and her governance of this province,” said Pilate. “Of course I intend to do so by peaceful means—unless I am given reason to invoke my Proconsular
imperium
. But let your people know that attacks on Roman citizens and property will NOT be tolerated any further! Those who carry them out will only bring suffering on the people of Judea that they claim to be fighting for!”

“I cannot be held answerable for the deeds of brigands and outlaws!” snapped Caiaphas, his mask of affability completely gone now.

“You personally?” said Pilate. “No, I will not demand an account from you. But those who shelter and protect these villains—they will feel the heel of Rome's boot on their neck, until they give up those who are preying upon Rome's people!”

The three priests sidled toward the door. Caiaphas spoke one more time.

“I would beg you to reconsider your proposed policy, Prefect!” he said. “If you enact reprisals upon the poor people of Judea for the actions of a heinous few, you will only add to the ranks of the rebels and Zealots who currently trouble Rome!”

Pilate favored him with a wolfish grin. “If I have to, I will make a desert and call it peace!” he snapped. “But I imagine very few examples will be necessary. One or two small villages destroyed, and the locals will be falling all over themselves to give us the Zealots' heads!”

The three Jews scurried out, and Pilate returned to his desk and took a sip of wine. He then looked at Longinus, who was staring at him with a slight grin.

“Well, Prefect,” he drawled, “you spent a good part of this morning painting a very pretty picture of how you intend to run this province—and in the process, you managed to paint yourself as a Roman of high principles and honorable intent. I must admit, I found myself wondering if all of it was nothing but a lot of pretty words. But after that little exchange, I see that you are pretty much who you make yourself out to be. I think I will enjoy working with you!”

Pilate scowled. “Was Gratus really so big a fool as to take bribes in front of his subordinates?” he asked.

Longinus made a scoffing sound. “Sometimes he did,” he replied. “Other times the honorable Valerius Gratus sent his subordinates to collect his stipend—and encouraged them to charge the High Priest for their service as couriers!”

Pilate shook his head in wonder. “How can the Rome that bred men like Augustus also breed such worms as Valerius Gratus?” he asked.

“With great regularity, I would say,” commented Longinus. “You don't really intend to go burning any villages down, do you? Please don't judge all the Jews by the actions of their priests and these fanatical Zealots! Most of the people here are simple and surprisingly virtuous. They deserve better than that.”

Pilate nodded. “I was mainly trying to show them that I am deadly serious about crushing the Zealots,” he said. “But if I catch a village giving them aid and comfort, I will raze it to the ground. I doubt I will have to do it more than once.”

“Agreed!” said Longinus. “Truth be told, most of the common folk of Judea hate the Zealots for making their lives so difficult. It is all well and good to dream of seeing David's kingdom reestablished, but in practice all these fanatics do is harm the people they are trying to help. There is one thing you should know, however,” he added.

“What would that be?” asked Pilate.

“Most of the Zealots congregate north of us, in Galilee. If you really want to go after them, that is where you will need to focus your efforts,” explained the centurion.

“Isn't Herod Antipas the tetrarch there?” Pilate growled.

“Yes, but he is worthless militarily,” said Longinus. “Jews won't enlist in his ranks, for the most part, so his soldiers are a mix of Syrians and Samaritans. The local Jews hate them as much as they hate Herod, so he keeps his troops concentrated around his various palaces and uses them as bodyguards. He is politically shrewd, and well-connected back in Rome—but he is no general.”

“I intend to end this Zealot movement, so we will see if we can root them all out, or at least chase them back into the remote areas,” Pilate said. “I want our roads to be safe for travelers, be they Roman, Greek, or Jew! I thank you for your time. I need to write some letters now, but why don't you go ahead and pick a reliable squad of men to accompany us. I want to start my inspection tour tomorrow.”

“Very well, sir!” said Longinus. “I look forward to accompanying you.”

That night Pilate told Procula Porcia of his absence over the next month, and she nodded with the resignation of a soldier's wife. “It will be difficult for me to conceive another child if you are going to be gone from my bed for months at a time!” she said.

Pilate nodded. “Perhaps we can get started on that before I leave,” he replied. And so they did.

Over the next few weeks, Pilate was on the road a great deal. With thirty legionaries in tow, commanded by the redoubtable Cassius Longinus, he rode from one end of Judea (admittedly a rather small province) to the other. He found that the further the soldiers were from Caesarea, the more professional and less lazy they seemed to be. Part of the reason for that state of affairs was that they had been more removed from the corruption tolerated and encouraged by Valerius Gratus, but a good part of it also seemed to be that they were living in much more dangerous conditions and they knew it. Everywhere Pilate went, the Roman citizens and merchants he talked to were living in fear of the roving bands of Zealots who targeted anyone and everyone associated with Rome.

The Jews distinguished between the two groups of Zealots: those they termed Zealots directed their violence against Romans only, while the
sicarii
also attacked Jews whom they regarded as insufficiently sympathetic to their cause, or suspected of collaborating with the Romans.

“Nothing but ruffians is all they are!” said Eleazar ben Shimon, an innkeeper in one of the small towns where Pilate stayed. “They could care less who rules Judea—all they want to do is kill and rob anyone who has more than they do! Them other Zealots—now, I might disagree with their methods, you understand—but at least their motives are honest. The
sicarii
—as far as I am concerned, you should gut the lot of them!”

Pilate listened with interest and sympathy. He had discovered that, as long as he kept his mouth shut, bought wine for the locals, and affected an attitude of commiseration, the Jews were a very vocal people. He absorbed all he heard, nodded occasionally, and acted when he felt he needed to. All the while he was debating within his own mind about the best possible way to strike a blow against the Zealots and send a message to the entire province that Rome was no longer asleep at the helm.

It was while they were approaching the sleepy little town of Nazareth that an idea occurred to him. Galilee seemed to be a hotbed of Zealot activity—no doubt due to Herod's refusal to go after them—and thus an excellent place to teach a lesson to these violent revolutionaries. All Pilate needed was to draw them out. He halted the detail for lunch and pulled Longinus to one side to explain the idea to him.

“What I want to do is send two men dressed as merchants ahead of us down the road. Let them be leading a couple of mules, heavy laden with bags of goods, and throw some gold around at the local tavern,” he explained. “The rest of us will camp outside the town—preferably in a barn or cave where we can be undetected. When the merchants leave town the next morning, we will shadow them along the road some distance back—hopefully far enough to avoid detection. If the Zealots attack, we shall swoop in and bag the lot of them!”

Longinus nodded. “There have been several attacks along the road between here and Mount Carmel,” he said. “But if we send these men out completely unguarded, it will draw suspicion. Everyone knows these parts are dangerous for Roman citizens. I would say give them a small escort—big enough to show that they are aware of the danger, small enough to still be a tempting target. I bet I could talk a half dozen of the lads into posing as mercenaries. The men all hate the Zealots with a passion!”

Pilate thought a moment. “Very well,” he said. “That sounds like an excellent idea. Pick men who are willing to bear the danger, and can do a passable imitation of rich merchants. We will remain in the hills south of Nazareth, and send them on into town to establish their cover story there. When they set out the next morning, I want to follow them at a distance of a mile and a half or so. We must be far back enough to avoid easy detection, but close enough to intervene when they are attacked. I don't want to lose the whole group!”

Longinus thought a moment. “We may need to acquire some clothing somewhere,” he said. “I don't know if we have enough local garb among the men to pass eight people off as civilians. We can't go into Nazareth; it will tip the locals off as to what we are planning. It's not too far back to the village of Nain where we spent last night; let me dress up as a local and hotfoot it back there. I know a tailor who lives there; I can purchase six or seven garments from him and be back in a few hours.”