At forty-four, Pilate was just under six feet tall and very lean. His black hair was thinning somewhat, and his mouth was set in a stern expression much of the time. There was a hint of danger about him that she had never fully understood, a certain ruthlessness that she only caught glimpses of from time to time. It seemed to gleam forth most fully when he was describing a battle or a tense political victory. But when he smiled, that hint of danger receded, and there was a kindness to him that had attracted her since she was a young girl. His nose was a proper Roman beak, and his eyes a steely gray. His shoulders were broad and his arms muscular from constant practice with blade and shield, and his exposed skin a deep tan from years of exposure to the sun. In a culture that prized physical fitness and strength, Pilate would never have cause to be ashamed.
The birth of his son and his victory over the Skenites seemed to banish the cloud that had hung over him ever since his arrival in Judea, and especially since the embarrassing episode with the standards. The Jews, it seemed, would never love any Roman governor, but for a time, at least, Pilate had won their respect. A week after his return to Caesarea, he received a package from Caiaphas, the High Priest. It contained a talent of gold and a single pearl of great value. The letter accompanying it was almost friendly.
Esteemed Proconsul, it read.
Please accept this gift, not in token of any favors granted or expected, but in simple congratulations for the birth of your heir and your notable victory over the enemies of our people. I do not expect that we shall ever be friends, but perhaps we can become, at the very least, partners in the governance of the sons of Israel during your time here. May the God of Israel bless your son with good health and long life. Matthew Caiaphas of the House of Zadok, High Priest of the Israelites.
Not long after, a similar gift came from Herod Antipas. The letter, however, was more verbose and not nearly as tactful.
Greetings, Prefect Pilate! Congratulations on the birth of your son and heir. We here in Israel are fond of large families—in fact, my father had so many sons that he was able to indulge himself in the luxury of killing half of them! But no man should go through life without leaving a son to carry on his name and family honor, and I am glad that you have finally been blessed with offspring. Given the uncertainty of life, however, I would encourage you to go at your wife again as soon as possible, because a single heir is a tenuous bridge to posterity at best! Please accept this gift as a token of my good wishes. Herod Antipas, King of Judea and Procurator of Galilee.
Pilate rolled his eyes as he read the ponderous prose to his wife. She could not bring herself to believe that Herod’s father had actually killed five of his own sons, but Pilate assured her it was true.
“No wonder he wants you to have another son!” she said. “He probably thinks you need an extra in case you decide to lop this one’s head off!”
“Herod’s father was mad,” said Pilate. “Do you know that Augustus once said he would rather be Herod’s pig than Herod’s son? As a proper Jew, Herod would never kill a pig!”
They laughed together, and then opened the bag that had accompanied the letter. Herod had sent them two talents of gold, one for Pilate, and one for his son. In addition, there was a lovely gold and emerald circlet for Porcia to slip around her arm. Little Decimus was fascinated by it, and kept trying to pull it into his mouth.
“You know,” said Porcia, “as soon as we find an acceptable wet nurse for our son, I will welcome you back to our bed properly.”
Pilate smiled at his wife with great fondness. Thrilled though he was to finally have an heir to his name, he did not want to put her through the perils of childbirth again when she was in her thirties. The thought that he might lose her was terrifying to him. But he kept those thoughts to himself.
“I will be glad when the time comes,” he said, and curled up next to her to sleep.
When Decimus was nearly four months old, a letter arrived from the Emperor. Pilate had sent him a detailed report of the defeat of the Skenite invaders, and mentioned the birth of his son in a brief postscript. Although his anger had faded somewhat, the affection he once felt for Tiberius had still not returned. Nonetheless, his old patron’s letter made him smile.
Gaius Julius Tiberius Caesar, Princeps and Imperator, to Prefect Lucius Pontius Pilate, Proconsul of Judea; greetings!
Your report of the Skenite incursion and your forceful and effective response was received with gladness. I have long held that you were the most competent and loyal of all my legates, and it is good to be proven correct once more! But the news of your son’s birth was a far greater joy to this lonely old man. I am a cold and impersonal being, as many have remarked, Lucius Pontius. My glum demeanor leads many to believe that I am incapable of human warmth. But the one thing that has always had the power to lift my spirits is the laughter of little children. I had once thought that you and I could share the same grandchildren, but the young serpent I adopted scotched that dream forever, and in the process cost me the friendship of one I held dear. I cannot undo what has been done, as much as I might like to, but I can thank all the gods of Rome that the laughter of children has returned to the house of the Pontii. Please accept my sincerest congratulations, dear Pilate!
I must admit that I do miss your capable eyes and ears in Rome. Sejanus continues to run amok, but his days are drawing to a close, though he knows it not. Young Caligula tries to endear himself to me, but I find myself unable to forget what he did to your daughter. If only I had another heir! At least he has forgotten for a time the hurt you gave him. He has devoted himself to the pleasures of the flesh altogether these last few months, and I think the constant indulgence is beginning to wear off some of his sharp edges. Such at least is an old man’s hope.
May this letter find you and your dear Porcia safe and well. Perhaps your return to Rome can be accomplished sooner than we hoped. Keep yourself safe, and keep the Jews in line!
Pilate shook his head. In all the years of their association, this was the most candid and emotional letter Tiberius had ever written to him. What a shame, he thought, that it should come at a time when the relationship was damaged beyond repair. Still, the thought of a return to Rome was encouraging.
Of all the letters he received, though, the one that warmed his heart the most came from Quintus Sullemius. It was short, pointed, and hilarious.
Quintus Sullemius, scoundrel, pirate, spy, and corrupter of the youth of Rome, to His Excellency, Proconsul and Prefect Lucius Pontius Pilate, sovereign protector of the armpit of the Roman Empire known as Judea –
Congratulations, you old dog! Be sure to wipe the cacat from the table before you unfold this to read it. Probably an exercise in futility, since infants are a never-ending fountain of the smelly stuff, but still worth trying at least. I was glad to see that the house of my old friend is not doomed to extinction, for this generation at least. Tell the brat his Uncle Quintus will have a nice wench lined up for him when he is ready to don his toga and become a man! In the meantime, keep wiping up the messes, and try not to go all silly every time you look at your little blanket-soiler!
Pilate did not read that one to Porcia, but he laughed every time he thought about its contents for the next week. Even the men noticed the change in their commander. He was still tough as nails and drove them hard, whether in training or on patrol, but he laughed and joked more often than before, and even went out of his way to show courtesy to the Jews he encountered. Perhaps his term as prefect was going to be peaceful and uneventful after all.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It was autumn, and Pilate was preparing to return to Jerusalem for the first time since the fiasco over the standards the previous year. His three cohorts were prepared to escort him, and the shields they carried were polished to a mirror finish with no ornamentation at all. The eagle standards would remain in the barracks at Caesarea, where the shields with the Emperor’s profile were also kept. There would be no fuss over “graven images” this time!
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nbsp; The messenger from Jerusalem arrived the day before Pilate had planned to depart, and the news was not good. Jerusalem was suffering under a plague of the bloody flux. Thousands of Jews and other residents of the city were afflicted with vomiting, diarrhea, and dehydration, and hundreds had already died. Pilgrims flocking to the city for the Feast of Booths seemed particularly vulnerable.
The armies of Rome had fought this particular malady for centuries, and while its precise cause was still a mystery, everyone knew how it was contracted: by drinking foul water, especially water that had been contaminated with sewage. That was why the Roman legions followed strict guidelines dating from the years of Scipio Africanus concerning the placement of latrines and wells within their camps, and why fouling a well was a flogging offense. Every Roman officer could cite the example of Pompey Strabo, the father of Pompey the Great. He had been negligent about proper drainage for his camp’s latrines and had thus died of the flux, after hundreds of his soldiers had suffered a similar fate.
Pilate knew that the city of Jerusalem relied on a few ancient wells and spring-fed pools for its water supply, and that those sources frequently became brackish and foul during drought years. A shame, he thought, that the city’s rulers had never built a decent aqueduct to carry clean water to its teeming masses. But as he turned the thought over in his head, he began to wonder: why not? What better way to do a genuine service for the people that he governed and build some goodwill for Rome than to provide the people of Jerusalem with a year-round source of clean, safe drinking water?
He went to his desk and unrolled a map of Judea. Mount Hermon, the tallest mountain in the province, was capped with snow year round and was the source of numerous springs, but it was about fifty miles from Jerusalem and would make for an enormous engineering project. There was a small aqueduct leading into the city from the south, near the ancient hamlet of Bethlehem, which had been constructed during the time of Herod the Great. Four huge reservoirs, known as Solomon’s Pools, had been there for many years, but the small aqueduct already there simply did not channel enough water to supply the city’s need. A proper Roman-style aqueduct built parallel to this one would more than meet the demand, Pilate thought, and the distance to be covered was only about seven or eight miles. But where to secure the funding? he wondered. The two biggest holders of wealth were Herod Antipas and the Temple, but Jerusalem proper fell more within the Temple’s jurisdiction. As much as he disliked the thought, Pilate would have to deal with Caiaphas.
He drew up his plans carefully, and packed them in his saddlebags when he and his men set forth the next day. He had hoped to have Porcia and Decimus come along, but he did not want them anywhere near the city while the outbreak of disease continued. Bidding them a fond farewell, he saddled up and rode alongside his soldiers as they set out. Longinus and Ambrosius were with him, and so he pulled his horse up alongside theirs as they wound their way southeast toward Jerusalem. As the cohorts fell into the rhythm of the march, Pilate broached the subject with his senior centurion.
“Longinus, I have a mission for you when we reach the city. I need to meet in private with Caiaphas the High Priest as soon as possible after our arrival. Can you go and summon him for me?” he asked.
“The High Priest will not set foot in the fortress,” said Longinus.
“I know,” said Pilate. “And I cannot set foot inside their temple. I will let him choose a neutral location where we can talk.”
Longinus nodded. “That is a wise and politic gesture,” he said. “He may even invite you to come to the Court of the Gentiles, where those like me, who worship the God of Israel but are not circumcised, are allowed to offer their sacrifices. May I ask what you wish to confer with him about?”
Pilate explained his idea for building an aqueduct to supply water to the people of Jerusalem from Solomon’s Pools. Longinus nodded as Pilate explained his reasoning.
“That is a good idea, and long overdue!” he said when the governor finished. “The Temple has more than enough in its treasury to fund such a project, but—if I may be so bold—I would offer to split the expenses with them. Perhaps an end to the flux and the addition of a source of good clean water would make the people think a bit more favorably of Rome—and you.”
“Those were my thoughts exactly,” said Pilate. “Do you think Caiaphas will go along with the idea?”
Longinus thought for a long time. “I really don’t know,” he said. “The Sadducees who control the Priesthood are a strange lot. They are really not very religious—not at all, compared to the Pharisees—but they do believe in trying to make this earth a better place, and they are superb politicians. If Caiaphas finds it politic to go along with your idea, he will. If he thinks the people will be against it, he won’t. And he can change positions in a heartbeat. So I would make sure that, whatever agreement you come to, you get it from him in writing.”
Pilate nodded. “Good advice, centurion!” he said. “I appreciate, as always, your understanding of these strange people.” He looked at the grizzled veteran riding beside him for a long moment. “What will you do when your years in the legion are complete, Longinus?” he asked. “Will you take your Jewish wife and children back to Italy, or will you remain here in Judea?”
Longinus paused a moment before answering. “I do not know,” he said. “I have had one foot in both worlds for so long I don’t really belong in either of them anymore. But Asia Province is a big place. Somewhere there will be a place my family and I can settle and live in peace.”
They camped near the old city of Ephraim that night, and the next day they pressed on toward Jerusalem. The pilgrims thronging the city for the festival gave way, grudgingly, as the three cohorts marched toward the castle of Antonia and the barracks that awaited them there. Pilate was struck by how subdued the crowds were this year compared to the year before. Smiles and laughter were not nearly as evident, and the stench of vomit, excrement, and death formed a faint, foul miasma that underlay all the normal smells of the crowd. There was the usual look of sullen resentment from some of the people, but now many of the expressions smacked of despair. Despite his dislike for these odd people he had been sent to govern, Pilate felt a certain sympathy for them. No one should have to die simply because their leaders refused to provide them with clean water to drink!
As they marched toward the barracks, the cohorts encountered no fewer than three funeral parties carrying victims of the flux outside the city walls for burial. Pilate ordered the column to halt each time as the dead were carried by. After they arrived, he assembled the legionaries for a quick talk.
“As you can see, men, the flux is taking a toll on the city. I do not want to lose any of you to it. Do not drink water from the public wells or cisterns. So far the well here inside the fort has proven safe, but if anyone gets sick after drinking from it, I will forbid it as well. Experience has shown that mixing about a small amount of wine with your water seems to prevent the flux from spreading. I do not want you drunk on duty, but the wine jars will be available for you to add to your canteens. Now be careful, and stay well. Dismissed!”
Inside the governor’s quarters, he called for a scribe and dictated a short letter to the High Priest. He read it over carefully before calling on Longinus to deliver it.
Lucius Pontius Pilate, Proconsul and Prefect of Judea, to Joseph Matthew Caiaphas, High Priest of the Nation of Israel, greetings.
I am distressed to see the people of Jerusalem so gravely afflicted with the bloody flux during this holiday season. While I am sure that you are offering all the necessary prayers and sacrifices to your God to summon His aid in this crisis, we in Rome believe, as I am sure you do too, that man was blessed with two hands and a mind for a reason. If you would be willing to meet with me, I would like to discuss with you how to best alleviate the suffering this plague has brought upon Jerusalem. I realize that your religious beliefs do not allow you to enter the Praetorium, so I will meet you at the time and place of your choosing—but I w
ould like the meeting to be soon.
Longinus donned civilian garb, including the headdress with its phylacteries that Jewish men and God-fearing Gentiles wore to the Temple, and disappeared into the masses outside the fortress. He was back in two hours’ time, bearing the High Priest’s reply.
Joseph Matthew Caiaphas, High Priest of the House of Israel, to the Proconsul Pontius Pilate, may the blessings of Adonai rest upon you!
For your concern on behalf of my people I thank you; and I am curious as to how you might be able to help arrest the spread of this dreadful flux in our city. For that reason I am more than willing to meet with you. There is a large colonnade along the edge of the Court of Gentiles at our Temple. At the south end of this colonnade is a guard tower. Meet me in the guardroom there an hour before noon tomorrow and we shall discuss how to overcome this crisis together.
Longinus was encouraging in his report. “Caiaphas was surprised to see me—we have met before, but I do not think he knew that I was a God-fearer,” he said to Pilate. “Once he realized that my dress was more than just a disguise, he spoke quite plainly. This flux has the priests worried. The people are angry and despairing, and looking for someone to blame. One thing you can say for the Sadducees, they hate disorder almost as much as Rome does! I think the two of you will be able to come to an agreement.”
“Thank you, Centurion,” said Pilate. “Now go get back in uniform!”
The next morning Pilate donned a plain white tunic and a simple robe trimmed with purple. He left his sword behind, but strapped on a dagger beneath the robe just in case a random Zealot chose him as a target. Escorted by four lictors—half his normal guard—he set out for the Temple. While the Fortress of Antonia actually had an adjoining wall to the Temple complex, to get to the gates that led to the Court of Gentiles Pilate had to walk down a parallel street for several hundred yards, then round a corner and up the steps to the portico. The double colonnade was most impressive, almost two hundred yards in length, and thousands of pilgrims were making their way up and down the steps as they entered and left the Temple complex. The Court of the Gentiles, which Pilate now saw for the first time, was the largest of the Temple’s open-air courtyards, but it was thronged with vendors, merchants, and moneychangers. Many of the merchants were selling sacrificial animals, and the haggling and hectoring between them and their customers drowned out the chanting of the priests standing on the steps of the Inner Court.
The Redemption of Pontius Pilate Page 25