I, Judas

by Taylor Caldwell

  Two others sat across from him at the witness table, an elderly couple, obviously of the working classes, for the needles in the man’s rough cloak proclaimed him a tailor. They appeared uneasy, their eyes showing their awe of Annas in his shimmering gold-and-white robes.

  The charges were of the flimsiest sort: that Josiah had conspired to break the Sabbath, then perjured himself in the bargain. What kind of a charge was this? Obviously, it was nothing but a ruse to get at Jesus.

  Josiah-bar-Timaeus was the first witness. He stepped forward timorously and stood on the witness stand, his hands nervously grasping the rail.

  Caiaphas approached him slowly.

  “Your name,” he asked in a tone he would have reserved for a dung heap.

  Josiah barely had time to reply.

  “Your occupation?”

  Josiah’s face showed his bewilderment. “I have none,” said he, “for I have been blind from birth.”

  It was all I could do to restrain a chuckle.

  The Prosecutor thundered, “Mind your tongue, man, and answer only the questions.”

  Josiah looked about helplessly, no doubt wondering how it had helped to gain his sight.

  “Yes, Sir Prosecutor.”

  “And you live where?”

  “On the road to Jericho, with my parents.” He pointed his hand in his eagerness to please. “They are at the table, sir.” And so that explained the elderly couple.

  “Explain what you were doing at the Pool of Siloam.”

  “Seeking alms, sir, as is the custom of the poor and the blind.”

  Caiaphas looked at him contemptuously. “But why this particular place, when it would have been easier to do your begging closer to home?”

  Josiah’s eyes shone across the chamber.

  “I hoped for a miracle, sir.”

  “A miracle.” Caiaphas pounced on the word. “What kind of a miracle?”

  “That which takes place in the healing waters.”

  “How long have you sat at the pool?”

  “Some twenty years.”

  “And you have been in the waters?”

  “Many times.”

  “And you were not healed?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did you know anybody that was healed?”

  “Only by what they told me. For I could not see for myself.”

  There were some titters among the Pharisees. The Prosecutor reacted angrily. “Never mind what you couldn’t see. That is what this examination is about.”

  Josiah smiled inanely.

  “Whatever you say, sir.”

  Caiaphas spoke very deliberately now, as if to give the questioning new importance.

  “How did you still hope for a miracle when there had been none all these years?”

  The witness’s eyes glistened. They were hazel eyes, and they held a look of constant surprise, as if the owner could not get over the shock of what everything looked like.

  “Because I had heard of a man, greater than John the Baptist, who was doing all manner of healing, even bringing the dead back to life.”

  “And who is this man?”

  Josiah shrugged. “Some called him the Deliverer, others said he was the Son of David, the rod of Jesse promised by the ancient prophets.”

  “And how knew you of these prophecies, blind as you were from birth?” Caiaphas’ eyebrows arched mockingly.

  The words gushed out. “My good parents are pious Jews, of the Pharisee persuasion, who read me from the Prophets from childhood.”

  I could see the satisfied smiles among the Pharisees.

  “Even so,” said Caiaphas, “why would this Son of David, as you call him, single you out?”

  “My dear parents have always told me when I despaired that I must keep faith and not question God’s will.”

  I myself had questioned the Master’s choice of this man. But I saw now he must have been chosen for the occasion.

  Sooner or later, Caiaphas had to get to the reason for the hearing.

  “What claims did this man make?”

  “None.”

  “What did he call himself?”

  “The others called him Master, but he claimed nothing.”

  “Did you not call him the Son of David?”

  “Only because I overheard the others.”

  “Did he not say he was a prophet?”

  Josiah hesitated. “When asked, he merely nodded,”

  “Didn’t you take this for consent?”

  “He must surely have been a prophet, for how else could he have healed me?”

  “This cure you speak of,” said Caiaphas, “tell the court how this was done.”

  Josiah repeated how Jesus had made the clay and placed it on his eyes. “I washed then in the pool and could see.”

  For a moment, Caiaphas looked like the cat that swallowed the dove.

  “Had any ever been healed in this pool?” he asked again.

  “As I said, sir, I know only what I have heard.”

  “Then there have been some?”

  “Not that I could tell with my own eyes.”

  I could see the Prosecutor’s exasperation mounting.

  “But there were healings, or you would not have heard, is that not correct?”

  “I would not swear to it, sir, for I…”

  Caiaphas cut him off angrily.

  “Were you aware of the day on which you were presumably healed?”

  “You mean, when my sight was restored?”

  “The day that the Son of David, as you put it, violated the law.”

  Josiah was now plainly confused.

  “I know of no law that was broken.”

  “Were you not aware this was done on the Sabbath?”

  “I did not think of it, sir.”

  “Were you not aware that it is sinful to participate in any public function on the Sabbath, even to wash, for that matter?”

  Josiah’s face dropped.

  “But others were in the pool.”

  “That does not excuse you.”

  Until now, the Rabbi Gamaliel had followed the proceedings silently.

  “Are you questioning that this man was healed?” he asked.

  Caiaphas turned to him in annoyance.

  “Since it is a sin to labor on the Sabbath, then this man, Josiah, and the other must be sinners. How can a sinner perform such a miracle?”

  Gamaliel’s wise old eyes twinkled. “In truth, that is the crux of it. Can a sinner perform such a miracle?”

  Caiaphas too late saw the trap he had set himself. I smiled at the scowl on Annas’ face.

  “If I may say a word”—Annas held out a well-manicured hand—“it seems to me that evidence for a miracle hinges on proof that this man was sightless from birth.”

  Gamaliel nodded approvingly. “For that reason, we have summoned the parents of this man.”

  At this point an unusual interruption occurred. A Temple guard, greatly agitated, slipped into the chamber and spoke animatedly to the High Priest. Annas listened with a solemn face, then beckoned Caiaphas. They conversed for a few moments, and the guard withdrew, there was a rustle of curiosity in the room, but the hearing continued as if there had been no interruption, save for a certain abstraction on Annas’ part.

  “First I would call a disciple of this Jesus of Nazareth,” Caiaphas announced.

  “It might have served more purpose,” said Gamaliel, “to have called the Nazarene himself.”

  Caiaphas shot him a resentful look.

  “The independent witness is always better than the one witnessed.”

  “Proceed with your independent witness,” said the Nasi.

  Cestus’ eyes roamed the courthouse boldly, stopping when they came to me. He seemed startled, and gulped nervously, but still stepped firmly into Josiah’s place.

  Caiaphas spoke more confidently now.

  “You are a disciple of this Jesus?”

  Cestus nodded. “I am.”

  “Do you b
elieve in him?”

  “I do.”

  “Did you see him heal this Josiah-bar-Timaeus?”

  “I did.”

  “Had you any way of knowing this man was blind?”

  “Only that he said so.”

  “Hah.” A gleam came to the crafty eyes. “Only that he said so. Did you have doubts of the healing?”

  “None whatsoever.” It was more and more confusing.

  “And why was that?”

  “Because I had seen miracles as great, even to healing a verminous leper before my very eyes.”

  “Then this Jesus is the prophet he claims to be?”

  Cestus shook his head grimly. “He is more than a prophet. When I heard that he changes water to wine and walks on the sea, I knew then that he was the Anointed of Israel, the Deliverer, the Messiah we have waited for.”

  Caiaphas strutted before the Nasi. “You see, we deal here with a more dangerous situation than we thought.”

  I groaned at the foolhardiness of this overzealous Zealot. He was so misguided as to border on treachery. “You fool, you unadulterated fool,” I thought.

  But help came from an unexpected source.

  “This testimony,” said Annas severely, “is only opinion.”

  I could see a semblance of surprise in Caiaphas’ eyes, and even a dent in Gamaliel’s habitual control.

  “And for this reason,” Annas imperturbably went on, “it is not admissible at this time. The witness is dismissed. There are no more witnesses.”

  But the Rabbi Gamaliel was not to be disappointed.

  “Let us not forget the parents of the accused,” said he. “They should be heard before the tribunal arrives at any verdict.”

  Annas grudgingly acceded.

  It was necessary to call only the father, since a woman’s testimony could not contradict her husband’s.

  Timaeus was a simple tailor, a God-fearing man who subscribed to the Pharisean belief in a world hereafter.

  Gamaliel, with a look to Annas, asked in a mild tone, “Would the Sadducees mind if this Pharisee asked a few questions of this devotee of the Pharisee teaching?”

  “Not at all,” said Annas, “the Pharisees have equal voice in the deliberations of this court.”

  Gamaliel’s questions were gently probing.

  “This Josiah,” said he, “is your son?”

  Overawed, Timaeus coughed nervously. “Yes, by my good wife.”

  “Now, was this son blind until healed by the man known as Jesus?”

  “I did not see the healing,” said Timaeus, “so I cannot vouch for it, except as I learned about it from my son.”

  “Was your son able to see at all?”

  “He was totally blind.”

  “Did you consult physicians?”

  “Even the Egyptian and Greek physicians, but to no avail. He was born without an optic nerve.”

  A murmur of disbelief rippled through the room.

  “How could he see even now without an optic nerve? It is not possible.”

  Timaeus bowed his head. “So the physicians said, and so we lost hope.” He looked up for a moment and his eyes gleamed. “It was a miracle. Nothing else!”

  “How do you explain it?”

  “I have not seen this Jesus of Nazareth. But my son tells me there is a luminescence about him that defies description.”

  “But how does a mere man perform such a miracle?”

  “He was surely sent by God,” said the old man. “God listens not to sinners, but if any man be a worshipper of God and does his will, him he listens to.”

  There was a dead silence in the chamber, and then a rising crescendo of wrath.

  Caiaphas rose angrily to his feet. “Who are you to preach to us, old man?”

  Josiah rushed to his father’s aid. “My father speaks the truth. This man was surely sent by God.”

  Caiaphas burst into a towering rage.

  “You who were born in sin,” he shouted, “dare lecture the Temple Chiefs in your abysmal ignorance? Away with you, before we clap you in chains.”

  “Do we put this matter to a vote?” interposed Gamaliel in his most urbane style.

  The High Priests exchanged covert glances, and I could see Annas barely wag his head. “These are such clods,” said the Prosecutor, “that it would be absurd to consider their testimony. For this reason, I recommend no determination at this time.”

  Annas nodded his agreement.

  It was a most surprising development. But the matter still hung over Jesus’ head. That was clear. The Rabbi Gamaliel quickly joined in the dismissal. “For the sake of the community, we accept the Prosecutor’s recommendation.”

  I chased after Cestus in the hall.

  “What foolishness is this?” I demanded.

  His manner was surly. “Something is needed to wake him up. If his enemies name him the Deliverer, then he must deliver, to save Israel—and himself.”

  “Careful,” I said, “this borders on treason.”

  “The man is for Israel, not Israel for the man,” said he, turning around what the Master had said about the Sabbath.

  I looked for Joseph and Nicodemus, but they had slipped out a back door. I soon found out why. At the front door I recognized the guard who had spoken to Annas earlier.

  He made us a low obeisance.

  “Go out at your own risk. The people have gone mad.”

  I reached for the latch. “We have nothing to fear from the people.”

  “For,” added Cestus, “we are the people.”

  An astounding sight greeted us. The Court of Gentiles was jammed solid with people. They stood, heads bared, without a sound. Some carried swords and spears, others had raised standards which said: “Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews,”

  I knew now why there had been no resolution of the trial. From his dealings with the Romans, Annas had learned long ago that he who mixes discretion with valor lives to fight another day.

  The throng was well-controlled and orderly. Yet it conveyed a greater threat than any undisciplined mob. In the forefront I saw Simon the Zealot. He brandished a sword in one hand and a spear in the other. Obviously, he did not believe that they who live by the sword die by the sword.

  This was not a helpless mass of pilgrims. My eyes traveled to the Fortress towers. The red-cloaked Roman soldiers stood in full battle array. But there were no mocking smiles today. They were tense, quietly ready, as the legions always are. But even though their commander stood among them, his skull gleaming in the midday sun, no command came. Pilate was too much the diplomat. Rome could tolerate one massacre, but two in such rapid succession might indicate an uneasy hold on the reins of government. And this was a crowd of a different temper, Cestus held up an arm in a victory salute.

  “Jesus,” he cried, “was vindicated here today.”

  A deafening roar, as of one man, arose from the throng. “You see,” said Cestus with a wave to the grinning Simon Zelotes, “how easy it is.”

  A sense of disquietude came over me at this moment of apparent triumph.

  I looked up again at the tower, at the tall commanding figure in the garb of Rome.

  There was a smile on his face.

  Chapter Ten

  MARY OF MAGDALA

  JESUS ENJOYED WOMEN, and they enjoyed him. He liked the sweet softness of their voices and the gentleness of their manner. There was a secret nature about women that appealed as well to his sense of the mystic. Perhaps because of his closeness to his saintly mother, he associated all women with her in his ideal of chastity and virtue. Contrary to custom, he held all women in the same respect in which he held men. Their needs and functions were different, but their humanity was the same, and he showed them the same consideration. “Actually, we owe them more,” he said, “because they are made less before the law. They cannot sit in the synagogue with men, must lag behind in the street, and have no standing in court. They do not even have security in marriage and hence are helpless since the profession
s are barred to them.”

  He rigidly opposed moral standards which demanded more of women than men. And he abhorred the ancient practice of stoning degraded women in the public marketplace for their sins.

  “Is their degradation not enough of a cross for them to bear?”

  All but John had put aside loved ones to join him, so it would seem that he was making our loss appear the greater by exalting the female.

  He did not disagree.

  “The more you give, the more you gain.”

  Peter, as usual, seemed to have the most trouble understanding.

  “Why, Lord, was it necessary to give up our families?”

  He shook his head in mock wonder. “Peter, whom I have named the Rock, does not understand. Recall you not the word I sent to my own mother and brethren when they waited outside the door?”

  “You said you had no family.”

  “I said my family was the world.”

  Thomas, always the skeptic, received this with a frown. “But then are not our wives and children of this world, too?”

  “But no more so than others, when you have chosen to minister to all equally in the Kingdom of Heaven. For as I have said many times, it is not possible to serve two masters. The love of family, while a delight, must needs infringe on the love we are deputized to bring in God’s name.”

  In my current state, the vision of Rachel’s lovely face and form played tantalizingly through my mind.

  “May we not cling in some way to this love for a woman and still serve the world at large?”

  He considered me gravely. “You, Judah, would be a captain of men. Who would you deem the most valiant in battle, the soldier with a wife and child to consider at home, or the bachelor whose whole being is committed to a sacred cause?”

  Even Peter’s eyes lighted up, and I silently agreed.

  But how does a man conquer the fevers that beset him as he vainly seeks sleep? I was no Essene perpetually committed to celibacy like the Baptist, nor, like the Master, totally caught up in the lives of others.

  Simon the Zealot harbored similar misgivings.

  “Is it natural. Master,” said he, “to subdue the urge God has put in the loins of all men?”

  There was a stillness, as the eyes of the Twelve flew to the Master’s face.

  The Master was seldom diplomatic, accounting too much tact a form of dissembling. And so, again, he made no effort to cater to our wishes. “In Moses’ time, it was ‘Thou shalt not commit adultery.’ But I say, whoever looks on a woman to lust after her has already committed adultery in his heart.”