The Redemption of Pontius Pilate (23 page)

“In the past,” he said, “we have simply let nature take its course and abided by the result. Perhaps it is time to help nature a bit. In every culture there are wise women who know the ways of childbirth and assist mothers who have difficulty conceiving. In Rome we never consulted with such—but perhaps it is time we did.”

“Would you give me another child for Caligula to destroy?” she asked, her expression bleak.

“Never!” he said. “But I would give us a child who can one day avenge the death of his sister. Or at least, a son or daughter who can flee with us into exile and grow into adulthood far out of Gaius Caligula's reach.”

She looked at him with a very small smile. “If that is your wish, I cannot object to it,” she said. “You are the
paterfamilias
, after all.”

“But is it the choice you desire?” he asked.

She nodded. “I cannot stand the hole in my heart that was torn open by Porcia Minor's departure!” she replied. “That wound can never heal completely, but having a baby to hold in my arms and nurse at my breast would at least keep it from blighting my life completely. I shall give you another child, my husband, if the gods are kind.”

“The gods owe us a little kindness!” said Pilate. “This evening we shall go to bed early.” He kissed her firmly—a kiss with much love and a bit of desire behind it, then fastened on his cape and left their chambers.

The men were done eating breakfast in the barracks, and the guards had just changed shifts. As Pilate looked around the governor's residence, he saw that uniforms were clean and the men were moving with a spring in their step and a sense of purpose. Titus Ambrosius saw him entering the courtyard and came over to report, rendering a sharp salute.

“Good morning, Prefect!” he said. “Men are up and about their duties, and they seem to be in good shape overall.”

“Excellent!” said Pilate. “Tell me, Centurion, what is the security like in the countryside here? Are there bandits or revolutionaries about?”

“Banditry is a constant problem on the desert roads,” said Ambrosius. “Merchants have to travel with a considerable escort if they wish to arrive at their destination with their throats and purses intact. But the biggest problem is the Zealots. They single out Roman soldiers and citizens, and wait for an opportune moment to cut them down. That is why Romans do not travel unprotected in this country.”

“Do they have a commander?” asked Pilate. “Or a known headquarters?”

“Not that we have been able to discover,” said the centurion, “although Longinus would know more than I do. From what I have seen, they are not a well-organized force. More a clustering of fanatics than a private army in the making.”

Pilate nodded. “I want the men patrolling all the roads in the province,” he said. “Spread the orders to each detachment in every small town and city. There should be a patrol on every road at least once a day. If you know that merchants, or Roman citizens, or any other prospective target for these bandits and Zealots should be traveling the roads, then make sure a patrol shadows them, out of sight. I don't want these brigands inconvenienced—I want them dead! Or captured alive, so that I can crucify them as a warning to others. Banditry and marauding will not be tolerated while I am here!”

Titus Ambrosius grinned. “That's more like it, sir!” he said. “When your illustrious predecessor heard of bandit and Zealot attacks, his response was to pull our patrols in and warn Roman citizens not to travel alone. Makes you wonder, doesn't it, what he thought soldiers were here for?”

Pilate nodded. “Apparently, he favored sending them on whaling expeditions to the local brothels,” he said. “Now, send those patrols out. And send word to every cohort and century that is not stationed here in Caesarea that I will be touring the province soon, and expect to find good order and discipline in every unit I inspect! And they can be assured—if good order and discipline are not in evidence when I arrive, they will be when I leave!” Ambrosius saluted and laughed as he walked back toward the barracks.

Pilate began walking around the perimeters of the governor's palace, taking the time to talk briefly with the legionaries stationed at the various watch points, and then left the facility and walked through the town. Caesarea, named after Caesar Augustus by his client king Herod the Great fifty years before, was a bustling seaport and trade center. Camels laden with merchandise entered the three gates at all hours of day and night, some bound for the large marketplace, but most for the docks where ships anchored daily to load up on the wines, spices, and perfumes produced locally, as well as fresh produce and meat for the crews. Like most seaports, it was a noisy, smelly, busy place. Sailors who had been recently paid staggered down the streets, looking for cheap wine and women, while those still seeking to earn their wages carried heavy crates and sacks from vendors to ships and vice versa. Caesarea was a tiny microcosm of the trade network that was the source of Rome's vast wealth.

At all three gates, patrolling among the docks, and standing guard at the marketplace were Pilate's soldiers. They regarded him with interest, snapping to attention as he approached and watching his back as he departed. He made a point to compliment them on their uniforms and their sharp appearance, and told them he looked forward to training with them again soon. Their attitude seemed to be a healthy dose of fear, respect, and perhaps just the beginnings of some real affection. He wished that there was an enemy he could lead these men against! One solid campaign against a foreign foe would make them his forever. But Judea, though grumbling and rebellions, was largely a province at peace—or at least, a province without organized hostility.

But there was hostility there all the same. And as Pilate toured the city, it was obvious to see whence it came: the Jewish citizens of the region. They glared at him when he passed, and again and again he caught the same word—
goyim
—whispered among them. Although every one of them that he spoke to addressed him with the appropriate respect and courtesy, it was obvious that he—or, truth be told, Rome itself—was an unwelcome guest in the land of the Chosen People. That hostility was utterly irrelevant, as far as Pilate was concerned. The Jews had proven to be stubborn and inflexible subjects for every people who had ever conquered them. Let them hate Rome, he thought, as long as they feared her in even greater measure.

As he passed by the docks, he saw his predecessor preparing to board ship for Rome. Valerius Gratus was trying to climb onto the gangplank, sweating in the morning heat, as his slaves carried his luggage aboard. But his progress was impeded by the rotund prostitute Fatimah, who clung to his arm and begged him to take her to Rome. The former governor shook his head repeatedly, which set her off wailing all the more loudly.

“It just isn't done!” snapped the angry Gratus.

“Oh please, my precious Prefect!” she begged. “No one else here will treat me as well as you do, and I promise to be so very discreet! Don't leave me in this awful place!”

“You did fine for yourself before I arrived, and I am sure you shall continue to prosper after I am gone,” Gratus said, and managed to twist his arm out of her grasp. “I have a wife and a Senate seat back in Rome, and you shall never see me here again. For your time and your . . . efforts, I thank you. But they are no longer necessary. Now take this and go!”

He tossed a small bag of coins her way and nearly ran up the gangplank to escape her. Her wails turned to curses and imprecations, but neither was heartfelt enough to keep her from grabbing the coin purse and stuffing it into her ample bosom. Then, mustering something approaching dignity, she made her way past the snickering sailors and tradesmen and headed toward the nearest tavern.

Despicable, Pilate thought. No wonder these people hate Rome, if the likes of Valerius Gratus have been sent here as her official face!

When he arrived back at the governor's residence, he was greeted by his newest centurion. Brutus Appius still bore a huge bruise on his chin from the impact of Pilate's elbow, but he strode up and saluted the Prefect with all the enthusiasm of a first-year
conterburnalis
.

“Good morning, sir!” he said after Pilate returned the salute. “Cassius Longinus has arrived from Capernaum and is waiting to see you.”

“Excellent!” said Pilate. “I have been looking forward to meeting him.”

He mounted the steps to the office which adjoined his private chambers. There he found a clean-cut, neatly dressed Roman officer in his mid-thirties who snapped to attention and saluted with admirable respect.

“
Primus Pilus
Centurion Gaius Cassius Longinus, reporting for duty, sir!” he said.

Pilate surveyed him for several seconds before speaking, taking the measure of the man, as he was sure that Longinus was taking his. After he had thoroughly inspected the centurion, he spoke.

“So tell me, Gaius Cassius, how is it that the
Primus Pilus
centurion of the Judean Legion absents himself from his post in Caesarea to take up residence in some tiny, pathetic village nearly fifty miles away?” he asked sharply.

The centurion returned his gaze with complete frankness, and then spoke. “The men tell me that you are a real soldier, Prefect, and that you also seem to be a man of honor, so I will extend you the courtesy of presuming they speak the truth. I stayed here as long as I could stand it. The grasping, incompetent nature of your predecessor was matched only by his corrosive effect on proper discipline. He tolerated an inappropriate degree of contempt and familiarity from the men, and made an open display of his slovenly and disgusting predilections. I tried to keep order and discipline for the first year, and he threatened to break me in rank if I persisted—said that I was ‘making him look bad' in front of the men. I told him that it would be impossible for me to make him look any worse in their eyes than he himself did—but I also agreed to leave the fortress. I have tried to keep the men posted in the villages from being infected by the corruption that he unleashed among the legion, but I am only one man. If it is your intent to remind these men that they are soldiers of Rome, and force them to act like it, then I am your man to the death!”

Pilate nodded slowly. “It seems to me, then, that you have acted with as much honor and discipline as any man could, serving under Valerius Gratus. But what is this I hear about your going native? Do you really ascribe to the Jews' religion? Do you have a Jewish family?”

Longinus looked testy. “I am a Roman of the Romans, sir!” he said. “It is true that I am a man of the Third Class, but my folks have served in the military since the Punic Wars! My great-granddad won the Civic Crown under Gaius Marius himself. I have marched under the standard for nearly twenty years and never disobeyed an order. But as far as my religion goes, yes sir! I do accept that the God of the Jews makes more sense than any of our bewildering array of Roman deities. I have not gone the full limit of conversion—I can't quite work up the nerve to be circumcised—but I am what the Jews call a ‘God-fearer,' and proud of it! I also am married to a local girl, Abigail by name. She is raising my two sons, Cassius David and Gaius Moses.”

“So where do your loyalties lie?” asked Pilate. “With Rome, or with Adonai, or whatever it is he is called?”

Longinus looked at him for a moment before speaking. “My first duty will always be to Rome, sir. And if there ever comes a time when my duties to my God and my country conflict so badly I cannot reconcile them, I shall lay my gladius at your feet and resign my office.”

Pilate nodded and extended his hand. “Spoken like a man of honor!” he said. “I shall need you, Longinus, if I am to successfully govern these people I know so little of. Still, I should like to have you nearer at hand than Capernaum. Can you relocate your family?”

“I have built them a comfortable home near that of my wife's mother. If you can allow me leave to see them periodically, I see no need to trouble them with a move at this time,” said Longinus.

“As you wish,” said Pilate. “But I may keep you too busy to see them for months at a time!”

“Were my wife Roman, she would be accustomed to my absences being measured in years, not months,” said Longinus. “My Abigail is a good girl, and will do fine while I am gone. Now, sir, what do you require of me first?”

“I intend to inspect every cohort and century that is posted in every village in the province over the next month or so,” said Pilate. “I want to see their condition for myself, and I want them to see what kind of commander I intend to be. I will also use this inspection tour to introduce myself to the local political and religious leadership. They need to see what a true Roman looks like! You can accompany me on this tour and be my liaison to the local Jewish communities.”

Longinus nodded. “That sounds like an excellent plan. You will need to make sure that you travel with an escort, however. The Zealots have made this province a dangerous place for unguarded Roman citizens.”

“Tell me more about these Zealots,” said Pilate. “Even the Emperor warned me about them, but I know very little about who they are.”

For the next two hours, Pilate listened in fascination as Longinus explained the complicated and tortuous religious and political web that was the Judean province. He had heard some of the ancient history of the Jews on his way to the province from the two Jews onboard Captain Diomyrus' ship—he knew of Moses and Abraham, David and Solomon, and the various kings and prophets that the Jews reverenced. But now for the first time he got a detailed account of the current events in Judea—of the house of Herod the Great, the cruel and paranoid monster that had ingratiated himself to both Mark Antony and Augustus, and been granted the title “King of the Jews” for his troubles. He also got a rundown on the complicated politics that surrounded the Jewish High Priesthood, and the House of Zadok that controlled that office. By the end of the interview, his head was spinning with the names of Maccabees and Hasmoneans, of Pharisees, Sadducees, Essenes, Zealots, and Samaritans, and of the complex network of religion and intermarriage that bound them all together.