Pilate nodded. “I was mainly trying to show them that I am deadly serious about crushing the Zealots,” he said. “But if I catch a village giving them aid and comfort, I will raze it to the ground. I doubt I will have to do it more than once.”
“Agreed!” said Longinus. “Truth be told, most of the common folk of Judea hate the Zealots for making their lives so difficult. It is all well and good to dream of seeing David’s kingdom reestablished, but in practice all these fanatics do is harm the people they are trying to help. There is one thing you should know, however,” he added.
“What would that be?” asked Pilate.
“Most of the Zealots congregate north of us, in Galilee. If you really want to go after them, that is where you will need to focus your efforts,” explained the centurion.
“Isn’t Herod Antipas the tetrarch there?” Pilate growled.
“Yes, but he is worthless militarily,” said Longinus. “Jews won’t enlist in his ranks, for the most part, so his soldiers are a mix of Syrians and Samaritans. The local Jews hate them as much as they hate Herod, so he keeps his troops concentrated around his various palaces and uses them as bodyguards. He is politically shrewd, and well-connected back in Rome—but he is no general.”
“I intend to end this Zealot movement, so we will see if we can root them all out, or at least chase them back into the remote areas,” Pilate said. “I want our roads to be safe for travelers, be they Roman, Greek, or Jew! I thank you for your time. I need to write some letters now, but why don’t you go ahead and pick a reliable squad of men to accompany us. I want to start my inspection tour tomorrow.”
“Very well, sir!” said Longinus. “I look forward to accompanying you.”
That night Pilate told Procula Porcia of his absence over the next month, and she nodded with the resignation of a soldier’s wife. “It will be difficult for me to conceive another child if you are going to be gone from my bed for months at a time!” she said.
Pilate nodded. “Perhaps we can get started on that before I leave,” he replied. And so they did.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Over the next few weeks, Pilate was on the road a great deal. With thirty legionaries in tow, commanded by the redoubtable Cassius Longinus, he rode from one end of Judea (admittedly a rather small province) to the other. He found that the further the soldiers were from Caesarea, the more professional and less lazy they seemed to be. Part of the reason for that state of affairs was that they had been more removed from the corruption tolerated and encouraged by Valerius Gratus, but a good part of it also seemed to be that they were living in much more dangerous conditions and they knew it. Everywhere Pilate went, the Roman citizens and merchants he talked to were living in fear of the roving bands of Zealots who targeted anyone and everyone associated with Rome.
The Jews distinguished between the two groups of Zealots: those they termed Zealots directed their violence against Romans only, while the sicarii also attacked Jews whom they regarded as insufficiently sympathetic to their cause, or suspected of collaborating with the Romans.
“Nothing but ruffians is all they are!” said Eleazar ben Shimon, an innkeeper in one of the small towns where Pilate stayed. “They could care less who rules Judea—all they want to do is kill and rob anyone who has more than they do! Them other Zealots—now, I might disagree with their methods, you understand—but at least their motives are honest. The sicarii—as far as I am concerned, you should gut the lot of them!”
Pilate listened with interest and sympathy. He had discovered that, as long as he kept his mouth shut, bought wine for the locals, and affected an attitude of commiseration, the Jews were a very vocal people. He absorbed all he heard, nodded occasionally, and acted when he felt he needed to. All the while he was debating within his own mind about the best possible way to strike a blow against the Zealots and send a message to the entire province that Rome was no longer asleep at the helm.
It was while they were approaching the sleepy little town of Nazareth that an idea occurred to him. Galilee seemed to be a hotbed of Zealot activity—no doubt due to Herod’s refusal to go after them—and thus an excellent place to teach a lesson to these violent revolutionaries. All Pilate needed was to draw them out. He halted the detail for lunch and pulled Longinus to one side to explain the idea to him.
“What I want to do is send two men dressed as merchants ahead of us down the road. Let them be leading a couple of mules, heavy laden with bags of goods, and throw some gold around at the local tavern,” he explained. “The rest of us will camp outside the town—preferably in a barn or cave where we can be undetected. When the merchants leave town the next morning, we will shadow them along the road some distance back—hopefully far enough to avoid detection. If the Zealots attack, we shall swoop in and bag the lot of them!”
Longinus nodded. “There have been several attacks along the road between here and Mount Carmel,” he said. “But if we send these men out completely unguarded, it will draw suspicion. Everyone knows these parts are dangerous for Roman citizens. I would say give them a small escort—big enough to show that they are aware of the danger, small enough to still be a tempting target. I bet I could talk a half dozen of the lads into posing as mercenaries. The men all hate the Zealots with a passion!”
Pilate thought a moment. “Very well,” he said. “That sounds like an excellent idea. Pick men who are willing to bear the danger, and can do a passable imitation of rich merchants. We will remain in the hills south of Nazareth, and send them on into town to establish their cover story there. When they set out the next morning, I want to follow them at a distance of a mile and a half or so. We must be far back enough to avoid easy detection, but close enough to intervene when they are attacked. I don’t want to lose the whole group!”
Longinus thought a moment. “We may need to acquire some clothing somewhere,” he said. “I don’t know if we have enough local garb among the men to pass eight people off as civilians. We can’t go into Nazareth; it will tip the locals off as to what we are planning. It’s not too far back to the village of Nain where we spent last night; let me dress up as a local and hotfoot it back there. I know a tailor who lives there; I can purchase six or seven garments from him and be back in a few hours.”
Pilate frowned. “What if there are Zealot scouts trailing us?” he asked.
Longinus shrugged. “I’ve had flankers going before and behind to watch for any curious eyes on our march and we haven’t seen any in several days. The Zealots know this is too big a patrol to ambush, so they have melted into the countryside. But I imagine they will know when two men come into Nazareth with heavily laden mules and spending large amounts of coin!”
Longinus shed his centurion’s armor, helmet, and plume and pulled a homespun robe and mantle from his saddlebags. He also produced an odd necklace with a small wooden box on it and tied it around his neck. It looked somewhat like the bulla amulet young Romans wore around their necks before they reached the age of manhood, but it was different in shape and more solid than the leather or fine linen favored by the Romans.
“Whatever is that thing?” Pilate asked.
“It is my copy of the shema,” said Longinus. “Something Jews and God-fearers wear to remind them of their faith.”
“What is in it?” said Pilate.
“A small piece of papyrus with a sacred verse from the Book of Moses written upon it,” said Longinus. “Shema Y’srael! Adonai elohainu Adonai echod!”
“What does that mean in our language?” asked Pilate.
“Hear, O Israel! The Lord Our God, the Lord is One!” said Longinus.
“I suppose he is,” said Pilate. “Be careful, and return quickly!”
Longinus rode off like the wind, looking for all the world like one of the natives of this strange and arid land. Pilate ordered the men to pitch tents next to a small spring one of them had found and make ready to camp for the night. He then pulled the men around him in a tight circle and explained why they were haltin
g for the night and what he planned to do.
“After Longinus and his escort head into Nazareth, it will be VERY important for no one to know that the rest of us are near,” he said. “So we will camp away from the road, and there will be no fires tonight. If any locals stumble upon us, we will detain them until Longinus and his crew leave town tomorrow morning. We are throwing them out there as a big, juicy bit of bait—but it is important that we be in position to spring the trap when the moment comes.”
“No worries, Governor,” said one of the legionaries. “There is not a one of us that hasn’t lost a friend to those damned Zealots. It will be nice to deal out a little payback to them!”
“Aye,” said another. “And we have no wish to see Centurion Longinus come to harm. He’s a bit funny with the Jewish religion stuff, but he is as fine an officer as I have ever served under. I’d hate to see someone else replace him!”
Pilate looked at the men with some affection. Longinus had chosen well—these fellows were all veterans, and eager to get at their enemy. He had them set up tents and shelters on the slope of the hill above the spring—there was no need to build a more formidable camp if they were trying to be undetected. One of the men found a small cave on the far slope of the hill; it would be a sheltered spot where about a dozen or more could sleep at a time. The rations were on the dreary side—salt fish and dried figs—but the countryside around the little spring was quite lovely, so Pilate posted guards and then found a rock to sit upon. He unrolled a blank piece of papyrus and began thinking about what he would write to Sullemia this week. He was anxious to know how things were going in Rome, and for any news he could get about Gaius Caligula. Would it be too much to hope for the little maggot to die of his injuries?
A few hours later, just after sunset, Longinus came riding back into camp. His disguise had worked, apparently, or else no Zealots had been patrolling the road. He brought along several sets of clothes, including tunics and mantles for his “mercenary” escort. He chose several men to play the role, and instructed each of them to put on the loose-fitting garments over their breastplates.
“Zealots frequently take out armed guards with arrows before attacking a caravan,” he said. “Barring a lucky hit to the head, these should protect your vitals. Just fall down if you feel an arrow hit your torso, and be ready to spring up and surprise them when they charge at us!”
“What about you, Centurion?” asked the youngest legionary, Marcus Quirinius.
“They won’t waste an arrow on an old merchant who is unarmed,” said Longinus. “And by the time they close on us, I will no longer be unarmed!”
“This is going to be dangerous work, men,” said Pilate. “Play your roles well! Don’t walk or act like soldiers. Be unprofessional and slipshod. Let the enemy think they have nothing to fear from you until it is too late—then send them to Hades! Now off to Nazareth with you!”
He watched as the “merchant caravan” left their hidden camp by the spring and headed down the road. Light in the sky was failing, and it would be just a few hours before midnight when they checked in to Nazareth’s lone tavern. He ordered the men to turn in early, except for the night watches, and left instructions to be woken two hours before dawn. The ground was hard and the night cool, but the exertion of the day had tired him out, and his eyes closed almost right away.
He knew it was early when he was woken up—far earlier than the time he had asked. The moon had only advanced a few degrees in the sky—it was maybe an hour since he had fallen asleep.
“What is it?” he asked the sentry who had called him out of his slumber.
“A young Jew has wandered into our camp,” he said. “We took him into custody, but did not harm him.”
Pilate rubbed his eyes and gave a sigh of exasperation. “Very well,” he said. “Let me see what he has to say for himself.”
The moon’s light was more than bright enough for him to make out the boy’s features. He was barely old enough to sport a rather scraggy beard—no more than twenty, thought Pilate. He was trying to look indignant, but the fear in his eyes belied the defiance he was trying to project. He spoke as soon as Pilate drew near.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, speaking passable Greek. “Why have I been arrested? I am no criminal!”
Pilate arched an eyebrow. “You are not under arrest,” he answered in the same language. Koine Greek was the universal trade language of the Mediterranean—not as lovely and poetic as the Attican Greek of Homer, but a simple language, easy to learn and understand. “But you will be if you lie to me. Who are you, and what are you doing out this late in such a remote area?”
“I am James, the son of Joseph,” he said. “I live in Nazareth, where I run a carpentry shop with my brothers. I am looking for my older brother. He wanders off periodically, claiming he needs time to pray. Hmmph!” he snorted. He did not seem to care much for his brother, thought Pilate. “He is usually back earlier than this, and my mother is worried sick about him, so she sent me out to search. He likes to frequent this spring, so it was the first place I checked. Instead of Yeshua, I found your soldiers. What brings a band of Romans this far from Caesarea?”
“Keeping the peace,” said Pilate. “A mission which your presence here makes more difficult. I cannot let you tell anyone where we are until we leave in the morning.”
“Prefect, just let me kill him,” said one of the men. “You can’t trust any of these Jews!”
Pilate shook his head. “No,” he said. “We are here to protect these people, legionary, and show them that Rome’s governance is for their good. If I thought he was one of our Zealot friends, we would not be wasting time bandying words with him. We shall detain him overnight here in our camp, and in the morning, we will take him with us until we are in sight of our merchant friends. Then we shall send him straight back to Nazareth—and if he tries to warn anyone, then he will join his Zealot companions on the cross!”
The young Jew shuddered at the mention of the cross. Pilate recalled Longinus telling him that crucifixion was particularly loathsome to the Jews, who believed being hung on a tree was to be cursed. But James squared his shoulders and addressed Pilate directly.
“If you are laying a trap for the Zealots, sir, then I will not breathe a word to anyone. Those cursed vagabonds have brought a thousand woes upon the poor people of our land!” he said.
“So your loyalties lie with Rome?” asked Pilate.
“My loyalties are to my God and to my family,” said James. “But I am intelligent enough to know that it will take an act of God, not a mob of thieves, to remove Rome from these parts! The Zealots say they want to restore the throne of David—pah!” He spat on the ground in contempt. “They don’t even know who the heirs of David are! There has not been a king of David’s line in this land for six hundred years, but if the Kingdom were to be restored, my brothers and I would be the strongest claimants to the throne! My father, who has now gone to the grave, was a direct descendant of the royal line, father to son, all the way back to King Jeconiah! And my mother, Mary—why she also traces her lineage all the way back to King David himself! And you know what all that royal blood has got us?” He seemed even angrier than he had been when Pilate first confronted him. “A house where five brothers sleep in one bed and my mother and sisters in the other! A carpenter shop that barely earns enough to feed us and keep a roof over our heads! That’s what being the heirs of the true king of the Jews has done for my family. Romans, Ptolemies, Herods—I do not care who rules Judea between now and the time Messiah comes. All I want is to go back to my bed and my shop and my trade, and hope that one day I earn enough money to build a house of my own and marry my sweetheart.”
Pilate listened in some amusement. This young Jew certainly seemed to have a grievance with the world, he thought.
“Well, James son of Joseph,” he said, “until your God decides to throw us back into Our Sea, this province belongs to Rome. And as your new governor, it is my job to keep th
e peace and put down rebellion. You seem harmless enough, but I will hold you till tomorrow. My men and I will be riding out before dawn to hopefully catch some Zealots in the act of attempted murder and brigandry. Who knows? If I take a few of them alive, I might even have to do a little business with you. Good wood is scarce in this country, and I may well need to make a few crosses.”
The young Jew paled. “Please, sir,” he said. “I have no sympathy for the Zealots, but they are sons of Abraham still. Do not hang them from a tree! Cut their heads off or burn them alive if you have to—but hanging them on a cross will curse their souls forever!”
Pilate allowed the beast that lived inside him to show its fangs for a moment. “They should have thought of that before they began murdering Romans!” he snapped. “Now good night, James son of Joseph!” He stalked back to his tent and went to sleep almost instantly, wrapped in his cloak and using his bedroll for a pillow.
It seemed like only an hour, but the moon was low in the sky when the sentry shook him again. All over the darkened camp, soldiers were rolling up their bedrolls, donning their cloaks, and checking their gear. The young Jew, his hands tied before him, stood and stretched next to the sentry who had guarded him all night. Pilate got an idea.
“You probably know the country around here better than any Roman,” he said. “I need to be watching the road that runs westward from Nazareth toward Mount Carmel by sunrise, and I need to watch it undetected. Is there a suitable location?”
James looked troubled. He obviously had no love for the Zealots or the Romans, but the talk of crucifixion still seemed to bother him. However, he had seen enough of Pilate the night before to know that the governor was no man to be trifled with. Finally he spoke up. “There is a ridge just outside of town,” he said. “There are some sheepfolds and shepherd’s huts on top of it, but the shepherds have all moved westward for the summer, grazing their flocks on the slopes of the mountain. From those huts you can see the road trailing off westward for at least five miles or so. The ridge runs parallel to the road for twice that distance at least, so you can shadow your caravan for a long ways toward Mt. Carmel.”
The Redemption of Pontius Pilate Page 19