Read The Redemption of Pontius Pilate Online
Authors: Lewis Ben Smith
Tags: #historical fiction, biblical fiction
“Where is the governor?” she said plaintively.
“I am the governor!” snapped Pilate.
“You're not my voluptuous Valerius!” she shouted.
“Your Valerius is no longer governor!” shouted Pilate. “He is staying at the inn by the docks, waiting to take ship for Rome tomorrow!”
The drunken prostitute tried to take it all in, but it was too much for her limited intellect to grasp all at once. “Well then,” she finally said, “I don't suppose you and the missus would want any company, would you? For a denarius I willâ”
“GET OUT!” roared Pilate, leaping out of bed, spinning her around, and kicking her in her ample
podex
. She staggered out the door, wailing in dismay, and he slammed it shut behind her.
Procula Porcia looked at him somberly. “Lucius Pontius!” she exclaimed. “I was curious to know what it was she would do for a denarius!” He looked at her, and then, for the first time since their daughter's death, both of them burst out in hysterical laughter. They held each other and giggled for an hour or more before finally falling asleep.
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The next day Pilate inspected the double cohort that was stationed at Caesarea. Ideally, it should have numbered eight hundred legionaries and two hundred auxiliaries, but the neglected army of Judea was indeed understrengthâbarely six hundred men and fewer than fifty auxiliaries awaited his inspection. He was pleased to see that most of them had made at least some effort to make themselves presentable, although many of their uniforms were threadbare and stained, and several of them were missing vital components, such as helmets,
pilum
, or bucklers. Most of the men snapped to attention, and he was pleased to see that Brutus Appius was handsomely turned out in an impeccable uniform, with his centurion's horsetail carefully knotted to his helmet. A few of the men still slouched or stared at him defiantly, but a brisk slap across the face or kick in the shins got them to stand tall and straightâall except one drunken lout, who roared in outrage and charged at Pilate, who neatly sidestepped and gave his attacker a slight push; the man's forward momentum sent him sprawling in the dust. Pilate kicked him hard in the temple with his iron-toed boot as the ruffian tried to get up, and the man slumped to the ground, limp as a rag. Pilate looked at the two legionaries who had stood on either side of the man, and they stared back at him, wide-eyed.
“Drag him back into the barracks, and when he regains consciousness, see to it that he receives fifty lashes!” he snapped.
The two broke ranks to lift the man from the ground, but he did not move or make a sound when they grabbed his arms. One of the legionaries looked at the side of his head and felt for a pulse, then turned back to Pilate. “Sir, do you still want us to flog him if he is dead?” he asked in a trembling voice.
“Not necessary,” said Pilate. He could feel the eyes of every single soldier upon him, and could feel the fear and awe in their gaze. “Well, legionaries, I don't know if any of you egged that man on or notâif you did, you bear the burden of his blood on your hands! Let him be an example. You will find I am not an ungenerous commander, as long as I am scrupulously obeyed. But if you disobey me, there will be a price to pay! And if you dare think to assault meâ” He gestured at the limp figure on the ground. He ran his gaze up and down their ranks.
“Many of you do not have complete uniforms. I don't care if you lost them gambling or gave them to some tavern wench, by this time next week I will see every one of you properly attired, is that clear?” No one stirred. They were learning, he thought. “This province has been allowed to go to seed, and I intend to fix that. But before I can repair a neglected province, I will repair this neglected army. You are understrength, poorly disciplined, and without enough centurions. What that means for some of you is an opportunity for advancement. For most of you, it has meant an opportunity to drink and carouse and shirk your duty. That time is now over. But let me make this clear to all of you: while I demand your obedience, I will also reward it! Now, how many of you have not received proper pay in the last few months?”
About half the hands present went up. Pilate nodded. “I will not see my men uncompensated for their service,” he said. “But do not let me catch you in a lie, either! Starting this afternoon, we will begin full military training. I will not command men who are not prepared to do battle at any time. If any of you know men in the other cohorts and centuries who are not stationed here in Caesarea, be sure to make them aware that they have a new commander, and the old ways will no longer be tolerated. That will be all. Centurions, I want to see you after the men are dispersed. Dismissed!”
The men rendered a straight arm salute, and he returned it crisply, and then watched as they filed back into the barracks. Five centurions, plus Brutus Appius, stood before him. Pilate took their measure carefully. One of them was a grizzled old veteran of perhaps forty; his uniform was worn but clean and neatly turned out, and he bore himself like a soldier. Pilate looked at him closelyâhe seemed somewhat familiar.
“Have we met before, Centurion?” he asked.
“Not formally, no, sir. My name is Titus Ambrosius. I was with you in Germaniaâfighting on the wall of our encampment not far from you, the day you won your Civic Crown,” the man said. “And if I may say so, it is a pleasure to be commanded by a real soldier again!”
Pilate nodded his thanks and looked at the next officer. He was young for a centurionânot more than twenty-five by the look of himâand seemed intimidated. “How long since you earned your tassel, Centurion?” he asked.
“Less than a year, sir!” he exclaimed nervously.
“Who promoted you?” Pilate inquired.
“Prefect Valerius Gratus, sir!” came the reply. Pilate arched an eyebrow.
“Really? And what service merited promotion to centurion in one so young?” he asked.
The young officer actually blushed at this, and Pilate glanced sidelong at the other officers and saw that they were choking back laughter. “Oh, out with it, man!” he said. “Don't be so embarrassed!”
The other centurions could no longer hold their mirth, and laughed out loud. The miserable young officer glared at them and snapped: “Oh, do shut up! I never asked for it!” Then with resignation he turned to Pilate and said: “I am the one that fixed him up with his favorite doxie, Fat Fatimah!”
Pilate stared at him. “Fat Fatimahâis that the whale that tried to barge into my bedchamber last night and woke my wife?” he finally asked.
The wretch nodded. “Yes, sir! Sorry, sir! She was passed out drunk most of the day and did not knowâ”
Pilate threw back his head and laughed hard and long. “Well, Centurionâwhat is your name, by the way?” he said when he could finally speak.
“Antonius Hadrian, sir!” said the young man, actually smiling now.
“For now you will remain a centurion; however, I expect you to do a centurion's workâwhich incidentally, will not include whaling expeditions for your new prefect! As for the rest of you, I will expect you to teach this young officer his responsibilities, and also to treat him as a colleague and fellow officer, not as a butt for your jokes. At least,” he said, “not in front of the men. Although, to tell the truth, young Antonius, you will need to be a very brave warrior in order to live down the means by which you gained promotion!”
He looked at the other three. All three met him with a firm gaze and a fairly straight bearing. “Are you men prepared to help me turn this legion around?” he finally asked.
“Yes, sir!” they all replied in unison.
“Give me your names, then!” he said. They were Lucius Andronicus, Marcus Pullo, and Metellius Macro. They all looked to be about thirty, and seemed to know their dutiesâalthough there was something about Pullo that Pilate instinctively disliked. He brushed that aside for the moment and gave them their directions.
“At the third hour past noon I want all legionaries not on watch to assemble here in the courtyard for two hours' worth of practice with gladius and buckler!” he said. “They will be decked out in full combat gear, and I want you to push them hard!”
Ambrosius spoke up. “Begging yer pardon, sir, but do you know how hot it gets here at midday? They'll be dropping like flies!”
“Battles are not always fought in the morning cool, or in the last hours of evening,” Pilate said. “I will make sure that plenty of water is available, but these men have been allowed to get fat and lazy! It is time to change all that. And I will be training alongside you, every day, swinging my blade and bashing with my shield. I will, in fact, probably spar with every centurion before the week is out. I want to know personally what kind of fighters my officers are. Now, that will be all. Enjoy the noon meal, and make sure the men have proper gear. Dismissed!”
That afternoon Pilate's Caesarean cohort drilled hard for two hours. Several men fell out from heat exhaustion, and were dragged into the shade and dowsed with water. Everyone sweated profusely, and many of the younger soldiers got bashed on the head with the flat of a blade for not remembering basic combat steps and postures. Pilate made a point of crossing swords with every single centurion, and was not displeased with what he saw. Young Hadrian was terrified at first, but he was quick and nimble, and a natural with the blade. Brutus Appius was a beast, charging in and bellowing like a bull, but he had no subtlety about him. Pilate disarmed him twice, and the big man was clearly growing frustrated.
“Calm yourself, centurion!” Pilate said. “The problem, as I see it, is that you have relied on strength and size for too long, and forgotten the use of cunning. Don't signal your every lunge with a bellow, and don't be afraid to lunge one way and strike another. Now, pick up your blade and come at me again.”
And so it went. By the end of the session, Pilate was the commander of the Judean legion not just in name but in fact. There were still the scattered cohorts of his army to be pulled together and brought to heel, but the men of the first two cohorts were now his to the death. As he bathed away the sweat and dust of the day that evening before supper, he thought that he had done a good day's work.
On his second day in Caesarea, Pilate made two important discoveries that would have long-term consequences on his tenure as governor. The first was that his
primus pilus
centurion, Cassius Longinus, was as solid and obedient a soldier as he could have hoped for. The other discovery was that Pilate absolutely despised the Jews he had been sent to governâor at least, their leaders.
Pilate had woken early, his joints stiff and aching from his swordplay the day before. It had been a while, he thought, since he pushed himself that hard. He stretched his weary frame and rinsed his mouth out with clean water, then used a small, bronze-handled brush to clean his teeth. Moments later, his steward Democles brought him a freshly baked bread roll and two pieces of dried, salted fish.
“Off to teach soldiers their craft again?” asked Porcia, sitting up in bed. The morning sun slanting in the window illuminated her face clearly, and Pilate saw the beginning of gray tinting the hair at her temples, and the lines of care and sorrow the loss of her daughter had graven in her face. She was not yet an old womanâfar from it! But in that moment, he saw the old woman she would one day become, and was moved with a deep sense of love and compassion for her sorrow. He crossed the room to kiss her forehead.
“Only if I have to,” he said. “Yesterday was hard on this old frame of mine. But they are not bad soldiers, reallyâjust neglected ones. I think they began to remember their trade yesterday.”
“And you only had to kill one of them to jog their memories!” she said.
Pilate raised an eyebrow. He had never concealed the brutal nature of the soldier's trade from herâit was not the Roman wayâbut she had never commented on it before either.
“Were you watching from the window yesterday?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “But word travels fast in this small town. Some of the locals seem glad that you are whipping these men into shape. Others are laying odds on how long before one of the soldiers slips a dagger between your ribs.”
“And what say you, my wife?” he asked, kissing her again.
“You need no advice from me on how to command soldiers,” she said. “You learned that craft well, long before we were wed. But do be careful! I have no desire to lose husband as well as daughter.”
Pilate nodded. “I have yet to see a man here who could best me,” he said. “But in another week none of them will wish to. Soldiers are like children, my dear. They may grumble about their parents' strictness, but all they really want is structure and discipline. Break them to your will, call them every name in the book, then pat them on the back and hand out a few awards after a battleâand they will be ready to lay down their lives for you in a moment!”
She gave him a sad smile. “I wish that I had something to keep me as busy and motivated as you seem to be!” she said.
Pilate gave her a long look. He knew that the Roman world was unfairly stacked in favor of men, but had never really thought about it much before. After all, that was the way things had always been. Men ruled the world, while women kept house, raised children, and pleased their husbands. But for the first time in his life, he tried to put himself in his wife's place. She had no children to tend to, and her husband's hours would be long. Servants would take care of the physical labor of the governor's home, for the most part, so what would she have to do? He racked his brain and could think of nothingâunless? He voiced his thoughts to his wife.
“I think we should try to have another child,” he said. “That is, if you want to.”
“I do not carry children well, my love,” she said. “Four pregnancies and only one girl who survived infancy. I would love to embrace another baby, but I fear it is not my fate to be a mother.”