Pilate's Wife

by Antoinette May

  Give him something! What madness was this? “Miriam, Miriam, do you not think that I tried everything I knew to save Holtan? In the end it was useless.”

  “Please,” she begged, her arms outstretched. “I know no one in Jerusalem. You are his only chance.”

  I turned away, unable to face her desperate eyes.

  “I have a plan,” she insisted, her manner frantic. “When the Sabbath comes the guards will be forced to cut Jesus down. They will think him dead, but with your help he will only seem dead. I will claim his body and watch over it until the therapeuta from the Essene monastery comes. His healing skills can save Jesus, I know it. The Essenes will hide him. No one will know. It will work, I know it will. Claudia,” she pleaded, down on her knees now, “you have got to help me!”

  I RAISED MIRIAM TO HER FEET, COMFORTED HER IN MY ARMS. MY dream had revealed Jesus’ death so clearly. Mary had known his fate as well. I recalled her deep melancholy at the wedding. How could any mother live with such a burden?

  But suppose my dream was false…Suppose I could change the outcome of what I had seen…Could that be possible?…Was it in my power to save Jesus?…Passiflora and arnica would calm him while soothing the pain…Stavesacres might make him appear dead. “How would you get it to him?” I asked.

  “I can do it! Please, Claudia, just make the potion. It is the only way.” Her eyes lit with hope as she grasped my hands.

  So little hope, yet if I did not try…

  I WAS ALONE IN MY APARTMENTS WHEN IT HAPPENED. STRUGGLING TO escape the ugly pictures that beset me, Jesus’ agony, nails…nails driven into his flesh and Miriam kneeling before his cross, suffering with him, praying for a miracle. Had she been able to administer the potion? Was it working? Could it work?

  I must not have noticed the darkening sky. Suddenly a crash of thunder shook the palace. Hurrying out onto the parapet, I saw that the sun had vanished. A great wind came up, breaking awnings and bending trees. The sky turned black. The Temple, revealed in a brilliant flash of lightning, rocked before my eyes.

  Rushing back inside I saw the lamp stand sway and crash. The marble floor shifted beneath my feet. “Marcella!” I cried aloud. Feeling my way like a blind person down the darkened hallway, I finally reached her door. My baby was screaming while the nurse beside her struggled to rekindle a fallen lamp.

  Taking Marcella in my arms, I stroked her hair, murmuring reassurance. The temblor was over as quickly as it had begun, but the sky remained dark. I cradled my little girl, soothing her, repeating words that I hoped were comforting. How long I rocked Marcella, singing lullabies and chattering foolish stories, I do not know. An eternity. Finally, I heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. Someone was shouting orders. Light flooded the room. Pilate stood in the doorway flanked by two torch-bearing slaves. “Tata!” Marcella cried, reaching toward him.

  Pilate crossed the room in an instant, his arms encircling me as I held Marcella, holding us both tightly.

  “What awful thing is this!” the nurse cried hysterically. “What evil have we done to cause the gods to punish us in this way?”

  Pilate glared at her. “It was an earthquake and an eclipse, nothing more. Intelligent people—the only kind fit to care for children—know that.” Turning back to Marcella, he gently stroked her hair. “It’s just the moon passing between the sun and earth—a natural thing that happens from time to time.”

  As he spoke, Marcella’s sobs ceased. Soon she wriggled free from both our arms and settled herself on the floor. “Let’s make an eclipse,” she said, assembling her clay blocks. “The blue one will be the moon…”

  Pilate and I knelt beside her. He was moving the clay blocks as she instructed him. “I love you, Tata,” Marcella said unexpectedly. “We missed you, Mama. Don’t you love Tata, too?”

  To my great relief, someone knocked at the door. Pilate scowled in annoyance, but I leaped to open it. There stood Rachel, white-faced, eyes wide with fright. I slipped outside to speak with her.

  “Terrible things are happening, Domina,” she gasped breathlessly. “Rock tombs have shattered—the bones, the bones, they are spilling out. I was in the anteroom when people began to pour in with awful stories. The great hanging curtain in the Temple—it’s been rent from top to bottom.”

  “See to the slaves,” I instructed her. “Calm them.” I would have gone back inside Marcella’s room, but Rachel stopped me.

  “There is something else,” she added reluctantly. “Miriam has sent a man here to plead with Dominus. He begs a favor.”

  I looked about the hallway, now bright with lamps. “Where is this person?”

  Rachel’s expression was apprehensive. “He waits by your apartments.”

  “Pilate will not want to be disturbed. I will talk with the one you have brought.”

  Rachel blocked my path. “The Sanhedrin is always spying—Herod, too—looking for ways to discredit Dominus with the emperor. You can do nothing but get yourself into more trouble with him.” She paused. “Jesus is dead.”

  Dead…so soon? Had Miriam given him the potion? Could it be working? “Who says this?” I asked, my heart pounding. “How do they know?”

  “They say that a soldier thrust his sword into Jesus’ side.”

  Poor Miriam, her frantic scheme for naught. Forcing back the quick tears that stung my eyes, I pushed Rachel gently away. The man stood outside my chambers, slight, barely into his twenties. His white robes were well cut, but wrinkled and badly stained. Was it blood? I wondered. He turned toward me, large eyes entreating.

  “Who are you?” I asked. “Why have you come?”

  “My name is Joseph of Arimathea. I am a disciple of Jesus.”

  “How dare you come here?” It was Pilate who spoke. “A disciple, you say?” he asked, striding forward. “Haven’t I seen you before? In the Temple, perhaps?” He studied Joseph suspiciously.

  “Yes, Dominus.” Joseph’s voice was scarcely above a whisper. “I came to Jerusalem to become a priest.”

  “But instead you have followed Jesus?” I asked, looking into dark eyes, level with my own.

  “Keep out of this, Claudia!” Pilate warned, his voice rising. “Go inside and close the door.”

  I didn’t move.

  Joseph’s pale face flushed. “I have been a secret disciple—too afraid to speak out.”

  “And now?” Pilate asked, his impatience mounting. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

  “Your soldiers have taken Jesus’ body. They bartered his clothing among themselves. The body will be thrown into a ditch—a pauper’s grave. If—if only I might have it. I have a tomb ready. Please…” He looked from Pilate to me. Those large eyes again, imploring. What could I do?

  Pilate shook his head. “What happened may have been unnecessary, even unfortunate, but Jesus was still a criminal. The sooner this matter is over the better. There are rules to follow.”

  I moved forward, looking directly into Pilate’s eyes. “But they were not followed, were they? The trial was a travesty. Perhaps this time…this rule…could be broken…”

  We stared at each other. Slowly his expression softened. He gestured impatiently at Joseph. “Very well, take the body! Do with it as you will. Tell the guards you have my permission. I want to hear no more of this.”

  Joseph flashed me a grateful look. He bowed several times and backed away down the corridor.

  Turning quickly, hoping to escape Pilate and his inevitable questions about my trip to Caesarea, I entered my chambers. Before I could close the door behind me, he was inside. Pilate seated himself on a couch and reached for a carafe of wine. His hand shook as he poured.

  “That man—Jesus—I would have set him free, but there were too many dissenters. Caiaphas had the court packed. They were out for blood.” Pilate lifted the wineglass to his lips, his face flushed.

  “I know, I saw.”

  “You were there?” Pilate looked at me in surprise. “Claudia, you know the danger.”


  I shrugged. What is truth? Pilate had asked Jesus. Indeed, what did truth matter now? “The dream I warned you of meant nothing,” I assured my husband. “I scarcely remember it. What difference will any of this make in a week?” Forcing a smile, I added, “If the day ever comes that as many pray to Jesus for healings as they do to Asklepios, perhaps you will have reason to regret your decision.”

  He laughed too heartily. “You do have a way with you, Claudia. You can always make me laugh.”

  IT WOULD BE TWO DAYS BEFORE I SAW MY HUSBAND AGAIN. JERUSALEM was in turmoil.

  Numerous riots erupted, Pilate hard put to suppress them. To my knowledge he slept not at all during that time. Troops were pulled in from surrounding areas to maintain order in the angry, troubled city. Many who had heard Jesus preach believed that his execution was in some way linked to the earthquake and eclipse. Had he not railed against the Temple? At the insistence of Caiaphas, Pilate posted guards around Jesus’ tomb. A boulder was rolled against the entrance and the seal of Rome affixed. All this I heard from Rachel, who, despite my admonitions, went out into the fearful city to gather information.

  Where was Miriam? I wondered again and again. Then late Saturday evening she appeared at the door to my chambers looking haggard beyond belief. Her face was blotched, her eyes so red and swollen that I wondered how she could see.

  “I thought I was so clever,” she told me, her voice tight and hoarse. “I tricked a soldier into giving Jesus the potion. The wretched man thought it was vinegar—Jesus was crying for water. Neither of them had any idea what he was drinking. I thought I had won. The Sabbath was approaching when Jesus lapsed into a coma. He looked dead, but I knew better. Only a little longer, I thought, but then another soldier came. He took his sword and—It is over.”

  She swayed and might have fallen had I not reached out to steady her. Carefully I led her to a couch while Rachel mixed water with a little wine. “Stay here,” I said, pushing the tangled hair back from Miriam’s face. “Stay here and rest.”

  “No, no, I cannot,” she said, tossing her head fitfully. “I only came to tell you what happened, to thank you for trying…I must go. Mary and Joanna are waiting. They were with me at the cross. We and Joseph were the only ones…tomorrow early we will go to rub spices into his dear body and wrap it in linen.”

  “But the tomb has been sealed, the boulder is far too big for you to move.”

  “Tomorrow I will find a way.”

  It was useless to argue. I placed a palla about Miriam. “Tomorrow, yes, but tonight try to sleep.”

  To my surprise, even as she protested, Miriam drifted into a troubled slumber. I sat by her couch long into the night, but eventually slept as well. When I awakened she was gone. Bright sunlight poured in from the balcony. Sunday morning. What would the day bring?

  I determined to spend as much time as possible with Marcella. We practiced writing her name together on a new tablet and played with her three kittens. “Tell me about Ariadne,” she asked. It was her favorite story as it had once been mine. We lounged on the sun-drenched balcony far above the city. Marcella, perched on my lap, looked up. “Would Ariadne weave a thread for me, Mama? Would she show me the way?”

  “Perhaps, if you believe in her…and if you remember to reach for the thread.”

  We were not alone, I felt it and turned. Pilate watched from the doorway. How long had he been there? He looked furious, but his voice was soft as he addressed Marcella. “You’ll excuse your mother, won’t you, sweet one?” He nodded for me to follow him. Once outside, he grabbed my shoulder, pulling me down the corridor to my apartments. “I don’t understand,” I gasped.

  “Keep quiet! Do you want the slaves to hear!”

  At last we reached the massive door, inset with ivory and lapis lazuli. Pilate thrust it open and shoved me inside. Slamming it behind him, he turned to face me.

  “What’s going on here, Claudia?”

  My heart thumped wildly. I needed more than Ariadne’s thread. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, backing away.

  “Jesus’ body is gone—stolen out of his tomb. Now the guard tells me that his woman has been to the palace twice, that she spent part of last night here in this very room. You were so anxious for me to release his body. Why? What is your part in all this?”

  “Miriam is my friend. I told you that in Galilee. She came to me hoping that I might persuade you to pardon her husband. Of course, that was impossible. I knew that. She knew it too, but was desperate. Can you not understand simple feelings?”

  Pilate shrugged off the question. As though thinking aloud, his voice lowered. “She was one of the women who went to the tomb this morning. How they expected to roll back the stone, I can’t imagine. As it turned out they had no need. Someone had already removed it. All that remained inside was Jesus’ burial shroud, lying on the ground as though he had just stepped out of it. Now I ask you”—he leveled his eyes suspiciously on me—“how can this be?”

  “How should I know? Ask your guards.”

  “They claim to know nothing.”

  “You mean they went to sleep! Those disciplined fighting men?” I looked at him, incredulous.

  “We shall soon find out,” Pilate answered grimly. “They are being questioned now.”

  We sat in silence for a time. My mind reeled, trying to imagine Miriam’s shock at finding an empty tomb. What did it mean? What lay ahead for her? I felt the weight of Pilate’s eyes, watching. What lay ahead for me? Finally, not knowing what else to say, I thanked him for giving Jesus’ body to Joseph. “You were kind.” How absurd that sounded in view of this inexplicable new development.

  But Pilate took me seriously. “I believed it was your wish. I do want to please you, Claudia.”

  I smiled at the irony of his words. “Indeed? It was not always so.”

  “It is now. Surely you have noticed changes…since we came to Judaea?”

  “Some changes, perhaps,” I allowed, not meeting his eyes.

  “Yet you went to Caesarea.”

  “Yes, I went to Caesarea.” I stood still, braced for whatever might follow. When he said nothing, I looked up. “I suppose you know…”

  “I know about the plague,” Pilate answered.

  I took a deep breath, searching his eyes. He knows all of it and has chosen to forgive me.

  But it was too late. Unspoken forgiveness was no longer enough, nor was fear sufficient to keep me quiet. A sense of power surged through me as I faced him. “As I know all about you.”

  “Very well then.” Pilate’s eyes blazed. “Let’s talk about Holtan. Because of him I have endured grievous humiliation. Thanks to Livia, your conduct is the talk of Rome. Anyone would advise me to exile you, Claudia. Had the man lived, he’d have taken you from me. I know as well that the two of you would not have rested until you found a way to steal Marcella.”

  “I cannot deny that any more than you can deny the countless women you have had throughout our marriage—Titania, for instance. Did you imagine I did not know about her—did not know about the other child born to you on the very same day as our Marcella? Yes, I know about your son, the son who died.”

  Pilate looked down. “I have hurt you badly. I regret it deeply.”

  “As I have hurt you, which I do not regret.” As from a distance I heard myself speaking in a tone I scarcely recognized, saying words that sounded not at all like me.

  “I see…but is forgiveness possible?”

  “Do you care after all that has happened?”

  He hesitated before continuing. “We’ve both lost much, must we also lose each other?”

  I smiled wryly, remembering my sixteenth year and the young centurion with blue eyes and a heartbreaking smile who had come to my father’s villa. I recalled the incantation and the spell, could almost smell the perfume rising from the bath. What a frantic, foolish girl I had been. I remembered the soul-searing waves of jealousy that had all but destroyed those early years.

 
Pilate touched my cheek lightly. “You loved me once, perhaps too much. Can’t you…is it not possible for you to love me again?” His hand moved to the sistrum I wore about my throat. “What would your Isis say?”

  “That you are a most unlikely Osiris!”

  “And your mystagogue…would he not say that every marriage is a union of Isis and Osiris? Would he not also say that I am the Osiris the goddess has sent to you?”

  I laughed. What a politician! Pilate was incredible, yet could it be that he was right? Did Isis mean for me to gather and cherish the remaining pieces of this union? Memories crowded in, my life’s best and worst…I felt again the horror and humiliation of my sister’s funeral. Pilate, the ambitious one, the man who would do anything, sacrifice anyone, had remained loyal, riding in the funeral procession beside me. It was in those troubled times that our Marcella had been conceived.

  “Marcella loves you,” I answered at last.

  “Is there nothing more for us than that?” His eyes, once so cool, searched mine. “So much has happened to us both—we are wiser now. You are safe, you are well, you are here. Say that you will always be here.”

  He knew everything and yet he had forgiven me. Holtan was dead and I had been left behind. I must go on for Marcella. I had loved Pilate once…It would take time, but perhaps…I did not know.

  “Yes,” I said, finally meeting his eyes. “I will always be here.”

  Epilogue

  After the trial nothing seemed to go right. Nothing that Pilate did met with the emperor’s approval. Eventually we were recalled to Rome. There would be no further appointments. I did not need the sight to tell me that it was time for us to begin a new life somewhere else.

  When a pleasant dream placed me again at my childhood home, I took it as a sign from Isis. Why not return to Monokos? Pilate, increasingly despondent, did not care where we went.

  When we reached the town, we found it changed, no longer the small garrison where I had grown up. Too many people, too many chariots crowding the steep, narrow streets that hugged the hills. What could I have expected after so many years? The best of Monokos remains. The sea mist cool on my skin, the smell of salt and seaweed, the surf sounds at night. Sweet sensations that awaken ghosts of my loved ones, Tata and Mother, my beautiful sister with her laughing eyes, regal Agrippina, restless shades never far away.