by Craig Smith
'I took that particular painting and left the others for the simple reason that it was not a forgery. Combined with an antique ring and necklace I had in my possession, I got resettled without too much discomfort.'
'You sold your painting?' He was surprised.
'Don't be silly, Thomas. I used it and the jewellery as collateral on a personal loan I took from a friend in Geneva.' She nodded in the direction of the ice rink. Gwen had stopped skating and was looking for Malloy. 'I had better go. Your friends just noticed you're not watching their show.'
'Will I see you again?'
Their eyes met and the inevitable feeling of desire swept over him. 'That is the question, isn't it?' she asked. The playfulness was gone. Their long history as friends and allies lay between them like a tangible thing.
'That's the question,' he answered.
The contessa leaned forward to kiss his cheek, her eyes suddenly quite sad. 'For now,' she said, 'this had better be goodbye. As for the future . . . let's leave that in the hands of God, shall we?'
Pulling back to arm's length, she held Malloy with her dark, luminous eyes all too briefly before she turned away.
A moment later the Contessa de Medici had melted into the crowd and was gone.
EPILOGUE
Caesarea, Samaria and Rome
AD 30-41.
There was no mention of Pilate's first administrative embarrassment resulting from his failure to raise the image of Tiberius in Jerusalem, but nobody missed the point when they saw the portrait of the man named Yeshua in Pilate's banqueting hall. 'In Jerusalem,' Pilate announced to anyone noticing the portrait hanging from the imago standard, and everyone did who wanted to please Caesar's prefect, 'the Romans might not be allowed to display the image of the emperor, but in Caesarea the Romans show an unsurpassed open-mindedness by giving a place of honour among the Roman standards to the imago standard of the King of the Jews.' The pleasure of the joke lasted many weeks before Pilate told Cornelius to have the standard repaired and to discard the image of the dead Jew.
The following year Tiberius's sister-in-law, Antonia, received a courier from Caesarea with a message that she passed on to the emperor. In it a number of the activities on the part of the emperor's 'most trusted servant' were spelled out, including Sejanus's covert attempt to start a war with the Jews. Tiberius rallied from his lethargy and managed without great difficulty to eliminate Sejanus and his allies, including Senator Vitellius. Afterwards he exiled Antipas and Herodias to Gaul. He then settled back into his semi-retirement in Capri and lived for another half dozen years.
During that time Pilate remained as the prefect of Judaea, Samaria, and Idumaea. The event that finally prompted Pilate's resignation was the appearance of yet another Messiah: a Samarian holy man named Simon Magus. Simon had an army that worshipped his image in its many manifestations. Among them was a portrait of Simon wearing a crown of thorns, for he preached that he was the culmination of the greatest prophets, including the most recent and notorious, a man named Yeshua, whom some, he said, mistakenly believed was the Messiah.
His followers prayed to Simon's images morning and evening in the belief that doing so would guarantee they would neither age nor taste death. Since they imagined themselves immortal, they were ferocious if undisciplined fighters, but they had not their general with them when it mattered. With a force of some three thousand and outnumbered nearly two to one, Pilate met and exterminated the radical sect in a single engagement. He crucified all who did not perish on the field of battle and gave orders to hunt down Simon Magus as well. Simon fled into Syria, however, where his cult of worshippers persisted for many centuries, for he was a persuasive man and a magician of extraordinary skill, having learned the arts of necromancy in Egypt, where the priests still worshipped Hermes the thrice-born.
By chance, Pilate's victory in Samaria was marred by a deep wound in his groin. Though painful it did not at first appear to be life-threatening. The ensuing infection however nearly took his life. In fact, the prefect's doctors gave Procula no hope when he fell into a coma some five days after the battle. They suggested she make a sacrifice at the temple of Asclepius, the god of medicine, for it was the only chance he had.
When that failed to bring relief, Procula called on Cornelius, then living in semi-retirement in Caesarea and practicing his medical skills, such as they were, among the poor. He had become a Jew since leaving Pilate's administration. But for a bit of foreskin he had sacrificed, he was still the same - still the great hulking figure and still the great passion to protect Pilate's wife. Arriving with only a bit of ointment that he put together from his own garden, the old centurion applied it to the festering wound and broke the fever within minutes. Pilate awakened from his long sleep an hour later - refreshed and cheerful.
Some weeks later, though fully recovered, Pilate resigned his post in Judaea, pleading disabilities. Tiberius's health was failing, and the son of the glorious Germanicus was set to become the new emperor. Rome was about to enjoy a renaissance that Pilate did not care to miss.
Caligula was twenty one years old when he came to the throne. He was handsome and popular and found his treasury brimming with the fortune that Tiberius had refused to spend. Sejanus was gone, the Senate had lost the last of its potency, and the world answered to the whims of the man who sat on the imperial throne.
For years a virtual prisoner on the Isle of Capri, Caligula came to Rome like a hungry tiger. He wanted pleasure and parties - parties like the world had never seen - and he wanted to be worshipped as a god. Because he had a tremendous imagination the costs were staggering and nearly bankrupted the once overflowing treasury. Warned of the dangers of spending more than he possessed, Caligula refused to cut back. Instead, he turned his mind to replenishing the imperial fortune.
Summoning great numbers of nobility to his palace for banquets it would have been treasonous to refuse to attend, Caligula would choose one among his guests - always the wealthiest and usually the most corrupt. He would then entice his victim into signing a will that left everything to Caligula. The enticement might be the promise of not executing all of the man's children as he watched, taking only a few of them instead, or raping the wife and eldest daughter, while sparing the younger children.
Those who resisted beyond these reasonable enticements were tortured until they signed anyway. Once the will had been examined by various witnesses, Caligula would then devise an entertaining end for his victim as his guests watched. One was drowned in a cauldron of soup. One was turned into a human torch while Caligula pretended to study his will. Some played games of chance that let them live so long as their luck held. One played Adonis, another Attis, a third Heracles wearing the poisoned cloak his wife had given him. One was grilled on a spit while he was still alive, then served Very rare' as an entrée to Caligula's terrified guests.
By the time the senators and equestrians of the city understood just what kind of madman ruled them, they discovered an even more horrifying fact. The plebeians of the city hated them with such passion they actually celebrated Caligula's crimes and wanted only the privilege of watching his imaginative executions in the Circus Maximus.
Having an audience fully appreciative of his genius, Caligula found new inspiration.
When Pilate's invitation to the palace arrived one morning, he waited until Procula left the house, then quietly retired to his bath and opened his veins.
Denied what was reputed to be a great inheritance, Caligula refused the family of the Pontii permission to bury Pilate, insisting instead that Procula - the sole heir of her husband's fortune - come alone to the palace afterwards with her husband's ashes. The emperor wanted to grieve in private with his cousin.
Following a depressingly simple funeral, Procula returned to the city. While she was still in the plaza before the great house Pilate had bought for them on their return from Judaea, Procula freed her slaves, bid farewell to the Pontii, and took the urn bearing her husband's ashes.
At t
he front gate she was turning the key when Cornelius stepped out of the late afternoon shadows. 'Centurion!' she said in bewilderment. She had not seen Cornelius in over two years and had assumed he was still in Caesarea. 'What are you doing here?'
'The palace guard is waiting inside your house, Lady. They do not intend to let you take your own life, if that is your intention.'
Procula felt a moment of panic but then steeled herself with the courage expected of a Roman matron. 'Honour me with your sword,' she said, 'and I will give them no say in the matter!'
'I will do better than that. I will get you out of Rome.'
'If they are inside my house, they are in the streets as well!' She looked out across the plaza and saw several groups of men engaged in conversation. Some she had seen earlier in the day but only now recognized this was not a coincidence. 'Please, Centurion! Give me your sword!'
Cornelius took her hand and placed it gently on his forearm. Considering her exalted station, she ought to have been insulted or outraged, but in fact she found comfort in his touch. 'I will not let you die, Lady, but you must trust me.'
Caligula's spies began to converge on them as soon as Cornelius and Procula turned back from the house and entered the plaza. They came slowly at first, carefully encircling their prey like hungry wolves wary of a trap. Two slipped in behind them, two others approached from either side. Three came at them directly. Their circle tightened at the centre of the plaza.
Cornelius seemed not to understand the danger at his back. He watched the men before him with the steady gaze of a man who has faced many battles, but Procula knew the men behind him would make the first move.
Why, she wondered, had he chosen an open plaza for his last fight?
The ambush that hit Caligula's men came silently, half-a-dozen arrows whistling down from various rooftops. The assault left three men writhing on the paving stones. Before their companions could even understand what had happened Cornelius struck one of the men behind him, the move so quick Procula did not even see him pull his sword.
The three still standing did not wait for a second volley from Cornelius's archers but turned and ran for their lives.
With the Praetorians searching wagons and carriages at every gate of the city, it took twelve hours to spirit Procula out of Rome. In the end, Cornelius's companions - People of the Way, as he called them - used a rope and basket and dropped her over the city wall. At the coast his friends arranged for a cargo ship to take them as far north as Genoa. From there they travelled north into the Alps. The journey was arduous and slow, but along the way they always found friends. One night Procula might sleep in a barn, the next in a mansion.
In Helvetia Procula took Pilate's ashes to a remote mountain and spread them across an alpine marsh. That evening she returned to the village quite late, but Cornelius begged permission to speak with her in camera. A matter of some importance, he said.
After she had let the old man enter her modest rooms, Cornelius pulled a small panel painting from beneath his coat. 'Do you remember this man?' he asked.
Procula took the painting from him and studied the image. She could still hear the raucous laughter Pilate's joke excited among his Roman visitors - the king of the Jews with his own imago standard!
'I remember.'
'When Pilate ordered me to destroy this, I took it into my chambers instead. Morning and night I found comfort in the calmness of his eye and the purity of his spirit. When I touched the image, I felt something within me begin to kindle that has not yet burned away.'
Procula let her fingers touch the waxy surface and could imagine that same kindling in her own breast. She studied the features of the Jewish Messiah more closely. He certainly didn't look like a god - or even a king, for that matter. He wore no crown of any sort, no insignia at all. He seemed . . . more the sort of fellow to run the harvest or build a temple. In the company of his friends he would speak plainly and when he made a bargain, he would keep it.
'Tell me,' she said. 'Was he really such a man as this?'
'Take this and keep it with you. I think in time you will know the answer better than anyone, what sort he was.'
Procula was startled by the centurion's proposition and tried to hand the image back. 'I am not worthy of such a gift! If you must give it to someone, seek out a person who is truly good.'
'I led him to his death without a flicker of conscience. His friends hid in fear on the only occasion when he ever really needed them. The man he called his Rock denied knowing him, and his most zealous follower sold him to the priests of the Temple for a few pieces of silver. Tell me, Lady, where am I to find anyone who is truly good?'
Procula shifted her gaze until she was looking at the great round ugly face of the centurion. This was not a gift of kindness. Cornelius, she realized, was asking her to take a burden from him. This was the only image ever painted of this man, a man some now were calling the son of God. To keep his image safe was to keep it secret from everyone. That was burden that only grew heavier as time passed, unless it was given away or shared.
'I will not take it from you, my friend,' she said, 'but this I will do for the sake of your kindness to me. I will help you keep it safe. So long as we travel on the same road, let it be our responsibility. Who knows? Perhaps the good that was in this man will remind us that there is always some good things that need to be done - no matter what the cost. But I ask one thing in return, and it is not a small matter.
'Ask it and it is yours.'
'I want you to take me to the people who walked with this man. I want to know what they heard and what they saw when he walked among us.'
Procula was in Corinth hoping eventually to travel on to Jerusalem when she learned of Caligula's assassination.
Her first thought was a practical one. It was now safe for her to go back to Rome. In fact, she was quite confident that Claudius, the new emperor, would see that Pilate's property and fortune were restored to her.
That meant no more laboring for others and counting coins out at the marketplace for a bit of food. A second marriage would even be possible, if she wanted it. She was still young enough and would certainly be rich enough to attract the most prominent men in the city.
The thought of her fortune stopped her. How many people had Pilate robbed for the sake of his gold? How many Jews had he murdered to build an aqueduct for the pleasure of a rich man's bribe?
She had turned her face away from Pilate's crimes all her married life. She had told herself it was not her choice to do these things but having lost everything, Procula knew the truth. With Pilate's earnings came Pilate's sins, and so long as she possessed his fortune or had hope of possessing it or gave in to the occasional regret at losing it, she was bound to every crime he had committed.
In Jerusalem she would be without resources, but she would be among those who had heard the words of Jesus . . .
'I will see that you get back to Rome safely,' Cornelius told her, 'if that is where you want to go.'
'I am not going to Rome,' she answered.
And saying it Procula let go forever the world of the Caesars, fixing her gaze instead on distant Jerusalem, with her prophets, her apostles . . . and her risen Messiah.
HISTORICAL NOTES
The historical scenes and those details of history discussed within the novel are all based on actual or reported events. Josephus and Philo give somewhat different accounts of Pilate's handling of the Jewish protestors in Caesarea. Josephus describes the encounter in Jerusalem that ended in a massacre, and there is quite possibly a reference to this in the New Testament with the mention of blood on the Temple steps. Simon Magus was a Samarian magician who sold his image in various guises to the credulous with the promise that if they prayed to it they would live forever and never grow old. Nicodemus was the richest man in Judea during the reign of Tiberius. There was also a wealthy Nicodemus who was a friend of Jesus.
Tacitus gives a full account of Tiberius and Sejanus - that partnership which went a
wry as Sejanus became increasingly ambitious. Tiberius gets bad press from Tacitus and Suetonius as a profligate and pedophile (he apparently took up his wicked ways sometime in his old age, having been sexually virtuous to that point). Tiberius was a world class alcoholic and a very competent scholar (especially of Homer). He was also the most politically astute individual of his age - after his mother, Livia, the wife of Augustus, had passed away.
While Sejanus and Tiberius agreed on most issues, we do know that with respect to Jerusalem Tiberius wanted to maintain the policies of Augustus, while Sejanus preferred to raze the city and sow the earth with salt. This latter policy was essentially carried out within forty years of the Crucifixion of Jesus and changed the course of history.
Senator Publius Vitellius, who makes only a brief appearance in this story, is a curious figure in the story of Tiberius and Sejanus. Having served as the second in command under Prince Germanicus, Vitellius was politically aligned against Tiberius up until the unexpected death of Germanicus (most believe Tiberius had the prince poisoned); however, Vitellius saved the emperor in the aftermath of that event and became one of Tiberius's most trusted friends. After the fall of Sejanus in AD 31, Vitellius took his own life, presumably because he had shifted his alliance away from the emperor and was working with Sejanus.
It is generally assumed that Pilate was fluent in Greek, since every educated Roman would study Ancient and classical Greek. I have suggested the contrary from my own experience with the language. It is one thing to read classical Greek, quite another to speak it or for that matter the Koine of the New Testament. Moreover, I doubt some administrators could even read Latin, there being no such thing as a pair of glasses - or even glass, as we know it. I have therefore given Pilate difficulties with Greek and have him insist on good old Latin. Pilate, being only human, would naturally have had the occasional run-in with interpreters.