Soon after the festival that the Romans called Saturnalia, the prophet and his followers left Capernaum again and began to travel through the country.
There were fewer miracles now that the hot weather had passed, but his prophecies were eagerly asked. He warned them of all the mistakes that would be made in the future, and of all the crimes that would be committed in his name.
Through Galilee he wandered, and through Samaria, following the good Roman roads towards Jerusalem.
The time of the Passover was coming close now.
In Jerusalem, the Roman officials discussed the coming festival. It was always a time of the worst disturbances. There had been riots before during the Feast of the Passover, and doubtless there would be trouble of some kind this year, too.
Pilate spoke to the Pharisees, asking for their co-operation. The Pharisees said they would do what they could, but they could not help it if the people acted foolishly.
Scowling, Pilate dismissed them.
His agents brought him reports from all over the territory. Some of the reports mentioned the new prophet, but said that he was harmless.
Pilate thought privately that he might be harmless now, but if he reached Jerusalem during the Passover, he might not be so harmless.
Two weeks before the Feast of the Passover, the prophet reached the town of Bethany near Jerusalem. Some of his Galilean followers had friends in Bethany and these friends were more than willing to shelter the man they had heard of from other pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem and the Great Temple.
The reason they had come to Bethany was that the prophet had become disturbed at the number of the people following him.
“There are too many,” he had said to Simon. “Too many, Peter.”
Glogauer’s face was haggard now. His eyes were set deeper into their sockets and he said little.
Sometimes he would look around him vaguely, as if unsure where he was.
News came to the house in Bethany that Roman agents had been making enquiries about him. It did not seem to disturb him. On the contrary, he nodded thoughtfully, as if satisfied.
Once he walked with two of his followers across country to look at Jerusalem. The bright yellow walls of the city looked splendid in the afternoon light. The towers and tall buildings, many of them decorated in mosaic reds, blues and yellows, could be seen from several miles away.
The prophet turned back towards Bethany.
“When shall we go into Jerusalem?” one of his followers asked him.
“Not yet,” said Glogauer. His shoulders were hunched and he grasped his chest with his arms and hands as if cold.
Two days before the Feast of the Passover in Jerusalem, the prophet took his men towards the Mount of Olives and a suburb of Jerusalem that was built on its side and called Bethphage.
“Get me a donkey,” he told them. “A colt. I must fulfil the prophecy now.”
“Then all will know you are the Messiah,” said Andrew.
“Yes.”
Glogauer sighed. He felt afraid again, but this time it was not physical fear. It was the fear of an actor who was about to make his final, most dramatic scene and who was not sure he could do it well.
There was cold sweat on Glogauer’s upper lip. He wiped it off.
In the poor light he peered at the men around him. He was still uncertain of some of their names. He was not interested in their names, particularly, only in their number. There were ten here. The other two were looking for the donkey.
They stood on the grassy slope of the Mount of Olives, looking towards Jerusalem and the Great Temple which lay below. There was a light, warm breeze blowing.
“Judas?” said Glogauer enquiringly.
There was one called Judas.
“Yes, master,” he said. He was tall and good-looking, with curly red hair and neurotic intelligent eyes. Glogauer believed he was an epileptic.
Glogauer looked thoughtfully at Judas Iscariot. “I will want you to help me later,” he said, “when we have entered Jerusalem.”
“How, master?”
“You must take a message to the Romans.”
“The Romans?” Iscariot looked troubled. “Why?”
“It must be the Romans. It can’t be the Jews—they would use a stake or an axe. I’ll tell you more when the time comes.”
The sky was dark now, and the stars were out over the Mount of Olives. It had become cold. Glogauer shivered.
Rejoice greatly O daughter of Zion,
Shout, O daughter of Jerusalem:
Behold, thy King cometh unto thee!
He is just and having salvation;
Lowly and riding upon an ass,
And upon a colt, the foal of an ass.
(Zechariah 9: 9)
“Osha’na! Osha’na! Osha’na!”
As Glogauer rode the donkey into the city, his followers ran ahead, throwing down palm branches. On both sides of the street were crowds, forewarned by the followers of his coming. Now the new prophet could be seen to be fulfilling the prophecies of the ancient prophets and many believed that he had come to lead them against the Romans. Even now, possibly, he was on his way to Pilate’s house to confront the procurator.
“Osha’na! Osha’na!”
Glogauer looked around distractedly. The back of the donkey, though softened by the coats of his followers, was uncomfortable. He swayed and clung to the beast’s mane. He heard the words, but could not make them out clearly.
“Osha’na! Osha’na!”
It sounded like “hosanna” at first, before he realised that they were shouting the Aramaic for “Free us.”
“Free us! Free us!”
John had planned to rise in arms against the Romans this Passover. Many had expected to take part in the rebellion.
They believed that he was taking John’s place as a rebel leader.
“No,” he muttered at them as he looked around at their expectant faces. “No, I am the Messiah. I cannot free you. I can’t . . .”
They did not hear him above their own shouts.
Karl Glogauer entered Christ. Christ entered Jerusalem. The story was approaching its climax.
“Osha’na! ”
It was not in the story. He could not help them.
Verily, verily, I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me. Then the disciples looked one on another, doubting of whom he spake. Now there was leaning on Jesus’ bosom one of his disciples, whom Jesus loved. Simon Peter therefore beckoned to him, that he should ask who it should be of whom he spake. He then lying on Jesus’ breast saith unto him, Lord, who is it? Jesus answered, He it is, to whom I shall give a sop, when I have dipped it. And when he had dipped the sop, he gave it to Judas Iscariot, the son of Simon. And after the sop Satan entered into him. Then said Jesus unto him, That thou doest, do quickly.
(John 13: 21–27)
Judas Iscariot frowned with some uncertainty as he left the room and went out into the crowded street, making his way towards the governor’s palace. Doubtless he was to perform a part in a plan to deceive the Romans and have the people rise up in Jesus’ defence, but he thought the scheme foolhardy. The mood amongst the jostling men, women and children in the streets was tense. Many more Roman soldiers than usual patrolled the city.
Pilate was a stout man. His face was self-indulgent and his eyes were hard and shallow. He looked disdainfully at the Jew.
“We do not pay informers whose information is proved to be false,” he warned.
“I do not seek money, lord,” said Judas, feigning the ingratiating manner that the Romans seemed to expect of the Jews. “I am a loyal subject of the emperor.”
“Who is this rebel?”
“Jesus of Nazareth, lord. He entered the city today . . .”
“I know. I saw him. But I heard he preached of peace and obeying the law.”
“To deceive you, lord.”
Pilate frowned. It was likely. It smacked of the kind of deceit he had grown to anticipate in these soft-spoken pe
ople.
“Have you proof?”
“I am one of his lieutenants, lord. I will testify to his guilt.”
Pilate pursed his heavy lips. He could not afford to offend the Pharisees at this moment. They had given him enough trouble. Caiaphas, in particular, would be quick to cry “injustice” if he arrested the man.
“He claims to be the rightful king of the Jews, the descendant of David,” said Judas, repeating what his master had told him to say.
“Does he?” Pilate looked thoughtfully out of the window.
“As for the Pharisees, lord...”
“What of them?”
“The Pharisees distrust him. They would see him dead. He speaks against them.”
Pilate nodded. His eyes were hooded as he considered this information. The Pharisees might hate the madman, but they would be quick to make political capital out of his arrest.
“The Pharisees want him arrested,” Judas continued. “The people flock to listen to the prophet and today many of them rioted in the Temple in his name.”
“Is this true?”
“It is true, lord.” It was true. Some half a dozen people had attacked the money-changers in the Temple and tried to rob them. When they had been arrested, they had said they had been carrying out the will of the Nazarene.
“I cannot make the arrest,” Pilate said musingly. The situation in Jerusalem was already dangerous, but if they were to arrest this “king,” they might find that they precipitated a revolt. Tiberius would blame him, not the Jews. The Pharisees must be won over. They must make the arrest. “Wait here,” he said to Judas. “I will send a message to Caiaphas.”
And they came to a place which was named Gethsemane: and he saith to his disciples. Sit ye here, while I shall pray. And he taketh with him Peter and James and John, and began to be sore amazed, and to be very heavy; And saith unto them, My soul is exceeding sorrowful unto death: tarry ye here, and watch.
(Mark 14: 32–34)
Glogauer could see the mob approaching now. For the first time since Nazareth he felt physically weak and exhausted. They were going to kill him. He had to die; he accepted that, but he was afraid of the pain that was to come. He sat down on the ground of the hillside, watching the torches as they came closer.
“The ideal of martyrdom only ever existed in the minds of a few ascetics,” Monica had said. “Otherwise it was morbid masochism, an easy way to forgo ordinary responsibility, a method of keeping repressed people under control . . .”
“It isn’t as simple as that . . .”
“It is, Karl.”
He could show Monica now. His regret was that she was unlikely ever to know. He had meant to write everything down and put it into the time machine and hope that it would be recovered. It was strange. He was not a religious man in the usual sense. He was an agnostic. It was not conviction that had led him to defend religion against Monica’s cynical contempt for it; it was rather lack of conviction in the ideal in which she had set her own faith, the ideal of science as a solver of all problems. He could not share her faith and there was nothing else but religion, though he could not believe in the kind of God of Christianity. The God seen as a mystical force of the mysteries of Christianity and other great religions had not been personal enough for him. His rational mind had told him that God did not exist in any personal form. His unconscious had told him that faith in science was not enough.
“Science is basically opposed to religion,” Monica had once said harshly. “No matter how many Jesuits get together and rationalise their views of science, the fact remains that religion cannot accept the fundamental attitudes of science and it is implicit to science to attack the fundamental principles of religion. The only area in which there is no difference and need be no war is in the ultimate assumption. One may or may not assume there is a supernatural being called God. But as soon as one begins to defend one’s assumption, there must be strife.”
“You’re talking about organised religion . . .”
“I’m talking about religion as opposed to a belief. Who needs the ritual of religion when we have the far superior ritual of science to replace it? Religion is a reasonable substitute for knowledge. But there is no longer any need for substitutes, Karl. Science offers a sounder basis on which to formulate systems of thought and ethics. We don’t need the carrot of heaven and the big stick of hell any more when science can show the consequences of actions and men can judge easily for themselves whether those actions are right or wrong.”
“I can’t accept it.”
“That’s because you’re sick. I’m sick, too, but at least I can see the promise of health.”
“I can only see the threat of death...”
As they had agreed, Judas kissed him on the cheek and the mixed force of Temple guards and Roman soldiers surrounded him.
To the Romans he said, with some difficulty, “I am the King of the Jews.” To the Pharisees’ servants he said: “I am the messiah who has come to destroy your masters.” Now he was committed and the final ritual was to begin.
7
It was an untidy trial, an arbitrary mixture of Roman and Jewish law which did not altogether satisfy anyone. The object was accomplished after several conferences between Pontius Pilate and Caiaphas and three attempts to bend and merge their separate legal systems in order to fit the expediencies of the situation. Both needed a scapegoat for their different purposes and so at last the result was achieved and the madman convicted, on the one hand of rebellion against Rome and on the other of heresy.
A peculiar feature of the trial was that the witnesses were all followers of the man and yet had seemed eager to see him convicted.
The Pharisees agreed that the Roman method of execution would fit the time and the situation best in this case and it was decided to crucify him. The man had prestige, however, so that it would be necessary to use some of the tried Roman methods of humiliation in order to make him into a pathetic and ludicrous figure in the eyes of the pilgrims. Pilate assured the Pharisees that he would see to it, but he made sure that they signed documents that gave their approval to his actions.
And the soldiers led him away into the hall, called Praetorium; and they call together the whole band. And they clothed him with purple, and platted a crown of thorns, and put it about his head, And began to salute him, Hail, King of the Jews! And they smote him on the head with a reed, and did spit upon him, and bowing their knees worshipped him. And when they had mocked him, they took off the purple from him, and put his own clothes on him, and led him out to crucify him.
(Mark 15: 16–20)
His brain was clouded now, by pain and by the ritual of humiliation; by his having completely given himself up to his rôle.
He was too weak to bear the heavy wooden cross and he walked behind it as it was dragged towards Golgotha by a Cyrenian whom the Romans had press-ganged for the purpose.
As he staggered through the crowded, silent streets, watched by those who had thought he would lead them against the Roman overlords, his eyes filled with tears so that his sight was blurred and he occasionally staggered off the road and was nudged back onto it by one of the Roman guards.
“You are too emotional, Karl. Why don’t you use that brain of yours and pull yourself together . . .”
He remembered the words, but it was difficult to remember who had said them or who Karl was.
The road that led up the side of the hill was stony and he slipped sometimes, remembering another hill he had climbed long ago. It seemed to him that he had been a child, but the memory merged with others and it was impossible to tell.
He was breathing heavily and with some difficulty. The pain of the thorns in his head was barely felt, but his whole body seemed to throb in unison with his heartbeat. It was like a drum.
It was evening. The sun was setting. He fell on his face, cutting his head on a sharp stone, just as he reached the top of the hill. He fainted.
And they bring him unto the place Golgotha, which is be
ing interpreted The place of a skull. And they gave him to drink wine mingled with myrrh: but he received it not.
(Mark 15: 22–23)
He knocked the cup aside. The soldier shrugged and reached out for one of his arms. Another soldier already held the other arm.
As he recovered consciousness Glogauer began to tremble violently. He felt the pain intensely as the ropes bit into the flesh of his wrists and ankles. He struggled.
He felt something cold placed against his palm. Although it only covered a small area in the centre of his hand it seemed very heavy. He heard a sound that also was in rhythm with his heartbeats. He turned his head to look at the hand.
The large iron peg was being driven into his hand by a soldier swinging a mallet, as he lay on the cross which was at this moment horizontal on the ground. He watched, wondering why there was no pain. The soldier swung the mallet higher as the peg met the resistance of the wood. Twice he missed the peg and struck Glogauer’s fingers.
Glogauer looked to the other side and saw that the second soldier was also hammering in a peg. Evidently he missed the peg a great many times because the fingers of the hand were bloody and crushed.
The first soldier finished hammering in his peg and turned his attention to the feet. Glogauer felt the iron slide through his flesh, heard it hammered home.
Using a pulley, they began to haul the cross into a vertical position. Glogauer noticed that he was alone. There were no others being crucified that day.
He got a clear view of the lights of Jerusalem below him. There was still a little light in the sky but not much. Soon it would be completely dark. There was a small crowd looking on. One of the women reminded him of Monica. He called to her.
“Monica?”
But his voice was cracked and the word was a whisper. The woman did not look up.
He felt his body dragging at the nails which supported it. He thought he felt a twinge of pain in his left hand. He seemed to be bleeding very heavily.
The Best of Michael Moorcock Page 15