The Redemption of Pontius Pilate (44 page)

“
Tata
,” he said in a very serious tone. “Why are they whipping that man?”

“Because he is a murdering thug,” said Pilate.

“What is a thug?” asked Decimus.

“A person who kills the innocent,” answered his father. “One who kills men, women, and children for his own amusement.”

“But hasn't he already been whipped? His back has red lines all over it,” insisted the boy.

“His sentence was to be whipped every two weeks, then nailed to a cross next month,” Pilate explained wearily.

“That sounds mean,” said Decimus.

Pilate lifted his son up onto his good knee. He looked at that earnest young face and tried to explain the world in terms a four-year-old could grasp.

“There are some very bad people in the world, my son,” he began. “Sometimes the only way to keep bad people from taking control and hurting all the good people is to make such a terrible example of them that no one else wants to be bad. That man, Bar Abbas, did terrible things to many, many people. By making him suffer so harshly, a warning message is sent to any who would be like him that they should change their ways.”

The little boy nodded. “Can Romans ever be thugs?” he asked.

Pilate thought of Gaius Caligula, heir to the Imperial throne. “Yes, my son, they can,” he replied.

“Then we should flog them too!” said Decimus, and ran off. Pilate looked after him, and then envisioned Caligula wailing and flailing as a cat-o-nine-tails flayed the skin from his back. He smiled and returned to his work.

That evening, after Porcia had put his son to bed, Pilate pulled her to the couch for a talk.

“It is time, my dear, that we decided what we are going to do when Tiberius dies,” he said. “The man is seventy-four, and any day could possibly be his last. When he is gone, Caligula will become Emperor, barring some miracle. I know that he must want to even the score with me—maybe by killing me outright, or it may be by striking down my family.”

She shuddered. “That horrible, horrible brute!” she finally said. “He stole our little girl from us, but that is not enough for him.”

Pilate shook his head sadly. “I do not know that the whole world contains enough misery to slake his thirst for suffering,” he said. “I am a hard man—partly due to the path the gods have laid before me, and partly due to my own nature. You rarely see that side of me, but I am sure you know it is there.”

She nodded. “I know you better than you think,” she said. “All men have a beast that lives within them, I believe. Yours is just hungrier than most. But the thing is, my dear, you control your beast. It does not control you. That is what sets you, and all decent men, apart from creatures like Gaius Caligula. You are a man that has a beast lurking inside. He is a beast, wearing a man's clothing.”

Pilate looked at his wife in amazement. All these years, he thought he had hidden the brutal side of himself from her! But looking into her clear gray eyes, he realized that she knew him just as well, if not better, than he knew himself. And yet, she still chose to love him. It was a revelation he had not sought, but would never forget.

“You know my client, Quintus Sullemia?” he asked, changing the subject.

“That rather seedy-looking fellow that used to come around our old place in Rome?” she said. “I never liked the look of him.”

“Don't let his scruffy appearance deceive you,” said Pilate. “He has been a faithful friend through all our trials. He keeps me posted on everything that happens in Rome, and makes sure his letters arrive well before the latest imperial decrees. I have already told him to inform us the instant word gets out that Tiberius is failing. I have about twenty talents of silver and gold invested with Greek bankers that I can pick up anywhere within the Empire. When Caligula becomes Caesar, Lucius Pontius Pilate and his family will disappear forever. But somewhere within the Empire, a Greek merchant named Lentulus, who has a wife and a young son, will settle down in a small village and melt into the local population. It will be hard—we will have to say goodbye to all we have known and loved—but we will live on, and Decimus will grow up to be a man without living in constant fear of his life.”

Porcia nodded. “You seem to have put a great deal of thought into it,” she said. “Where do you wish to settle?”

“That I do not know,” said Pilate. “But I want to live somewhere that has actual seasons, where I can see snow in winter and real rains in the fall and spring. Perhaps Gaul, in the country of the Belgae? It is quite lovely up there, and the region is remote, but civilized.”

“I will go where you go, my husband,” she said. “But for now, let that be to our bedchamber. Our son is sleeping, and we are both awake. That is a rare occasion, and not to be wasted!”

As the month of Martius passed, Pilate and his family began to prepare to travel to Jerusalem for the annual Passover feast. In addition to moving his headquarters from Caesarea, Pilate also made preparations for Bar Abbas to meet his date with the crossbeam. A large cage was mounted on a wagon, and the Zealot leader, his back a mass of half-healed scar tissue and his mind a seething, broken mess of pain and hate, was placed in it for the journey.

All along the way, the crowds gathered around Pilate's procession to see the famous outlaw. The governor was happy to see that despite Bar Abbas' wretched condition, very few faces showed any sympathy for the man's fate. For once, it seemed, Pilate's actions met with the approval of the citizens of Judea. He was even greeted with cheers by the people as they drew near to the city.

Longinus met him a few miles out with a mounted escort of legionaries. They took custody of Bar Abbas and brought his wagon into Jerusalem ahead of the rest of the procession. Pilate dismissed his soldiers to the Fortress of Antonia, and took up residence with his family in the upper tower—Herod's antipathy for Pilate had returned as the memory of John the Baptizer's death faded from the minds of the people. He had sent word to Pilate that his guest rooms were being repainted, so the Prefect and his family would have to stay in the fort with the soldiers this time.

After seeing Porcia and Decimus settled in, Pilate walked to his office with Longinus right behind. When they were behind closed doors, he turned to his senior centurion.

“Anything of note to report, Longinus?” he asked.

“Only one thing is on everybody's mind at the moment, sir,” replied the soldier. “Jesus of Nazareth is coming to Jerusalem for Passover.”

“Jupiter!” said Pilate. “Didn't Caiaphas try to arrest him last time?”

“Yes sir,” Longinus answered. “And he has a reward of thirty silver sesterces for anyone who can lead him to the Galilean when he is not surrounded by crowds. But there is more than that.”

“What else then?” Pilate demanded.

“A few days ago, Jesus visited a house in Bethany, a small village not far from here. He is friends with a man named Lazarus, who lives there with his two spinster sisters. Lazarus had fallen ill, and died before Jesus arrived. Four days before he arrived, in fact,” explained the centurion.

“Go on,” Pilate said.

“When Jesus arrived, he demanded that the stone be removed from the entrance of the tomb,” Longinus continued. “People thought he wanted to see Lazarus' face one last time, as is the custom of the Jews. They warned him the body would be rotten and discolored after that long a time, but Jesus insisted. So they removed the stone, and the stench of dead flesh filled the air. Jesus bowed his head, prayed, and then called out for Lazarus to come out of the tomb.”

“That's ridiculous!” said Pilate.

“It would have been, sir, except for one small detail. Lazarus came.”

“Preposterous!” snapped Pilate. “Dead men stay dead! Either it was an actor, or else Lazarus faked his own death. What you are describing is an impossibility.”

Longinus nodded. “Sir, my mind agrees with you fully. This is not a healing, it is a resurrection! But I have talked to three different people from the town, and all of them agree on two things: first, that Lazarus was dead. Secondly, that he now lives. The High Priest takes it seriously enough that he has put a price on Lazarus' head too.”

Pilate looked at Longinus carefully. “You said your mind agrees, Centurion. What does that mean?”

Longinus looked at him ruefully. “My heart tells me that something miraculous is going on among us,” he said. “I don't know what it means, or why it is happening now, but this is just the last in a long train of events that Jesus has set in motion. The people believe it, too. Many of them are saying that Jesus may publicly declare himself as Messiah when he enters Jerusalem this time.”

“And when will that be?” asked Pilate.

“Later this afternoon,” said Longinus.

“Get us some hooded cloaks,” said Pilate. “I want to see this. If this man declares himself king, we will arrest him at once.”

There was a guard tower that overlooked the plaza just inside the main gate of Jerusalem, where tens of thousands of pilgrims entered every day to celebrate the Passover. Pilate and Longinus positioned themselves at a window overlooking the plaza. Disguised legionaries were posted all around, ready to spring into action if things turned ugly. There was a growing roar in the air as the Galilean's entourage approached the main gate. The sounds grew louder as more Jews packed into the square to see the miracle worker arrive.

“Hosanna!” they shouted. “Hail to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” Longinus stiffened at the words.

“What is it?” Pilate asked.

“Those words have not been sung in Jerusalem for six hundred years!” said the centurion. “That is a coronation psalm, sung when a new king takes the throne of David.”

Pilate scowled. “Where is this king, then?” he asked.

“Right there!” said Longinus.

The man was so nondescript Pilate would not have been able to pick him out from the crowd, were it not for the palm fronds and cloaks being thrown into his path. Medium height, medium build, with reddish-brown hair worn long, as was the Jewish custom, Jesus of Nazareth was not a particularly commanding figure. His choice of mounts did not improve that impression—he was seated on a fat young donkey, its mother tethered beside it. He was surrounded by a small group of rustics who tried to keep the crowd at bay. But the singing and shouting rose all the louder when they caught sight of him. A small group of children, off to one side, began singing the coronation psalm again.

“Silence!” a voice roared. Clad in black, a small group of priests had worked their way through the crowd to the front. Their spokesman was glaring at Jesus. “Rabbi, tell these brats to be quiet!”

A clear, mellow voice that reached to the furthest corner of the plaza answered the irate priest. “I tell you in truth,” Jesus said, “that if these be silent the very stones will cry out!”

Silence fell across the crowd. Jesus raised himself up and looked at the eager faces, every eye upon him. It was hard to see across the distance, but Pilate could have sworn that the rough carpenter's face was seamed with tears.

“Oh Jerusalem, Jerusalem!” cried Jesus, his voice breaking with grief. “How often I would have gathered you to myself, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings. But you would not have it,” he continued, his voice growing softer but still audible. “And now your house is left to you desolate, because you did not recognize the hour of your visitation.” With that, Jesus suddenly slipped from the donkey's back and vanished into the crowd, leaving every mouth agape. The murmur became a roar as the people asked one another what had just happened, and where Jesus had gone.

“Well,” said Longinus. “So much for him wanting to be a king!”

They did not say a word all the way back to the Praetorium.

Over the next few days, Jesus taught in the Temple daily. The Pharisees and Sadducees sent delegation after delegation, trying to trick him or provoke him into some statement that they could use against him. Jesus mastered each challenge effortlessly, turning their own words against them and answering their questions with unanswerable questions of his own. The crowds flocked daily to see the rabbi from Galilee stump the teachers of the law, and cheered when Jesus did so again and again.

“I just wonder what he is getting at?” Pilate asked, but no one could give a satisfactory answer.

A week after Passover, an exhausted, emotionally wrung-out Pontius Pilate dictated a letter to Tiberius Caesar. It was as formal in tone as he could make it, trying to outline for the Emperor the fantastic events of that bizarre week.

Lucius Pontius Pilate, Senior Legate, Prefect, and Proconsul of Judea, to Tiberius Julius Caesar Augustus, Princeps and Imperator of Rome, Greetings.

Your Excellency, you know that it is the duty of every governor to keep you informed of events in the provinces that may in some way affect the well-being of the Empire. While I am loath to disturb your important daily work with a matter that may seem trivial at first, upon further reflection, and especially in light of subsequent developments, I find myself convinced that recent events in Judea merit your attention. And I would be telling an untruth if I said that I am not concerned that other accounts of these happenings may reach your ears which are not just unfavorable but frankly slanderous of my actions and motives. The situation was one of unusual difficulty and complexity, and hard decisions were called for. As always, I tried to make the decisions that I felt would most lend themselves to a peaceful and harmonious outcome for the citizens of the Republic and the people of Judea. But local passions in this case were so strong, and so diametrically opposed to each other, that it may be there simply was no completely correct choice to make. I leave that to your judgment.