The Redemption of Pontius Pilate

by Lewis Ben Smith

  He received a reply from Quintus Sullemius as summer began:

  Old friend, rest assured that the Rome you remember so fondly is not the Rome that I live in now. In fact, I may be coming your way soon if things do not improve. Last week Sejanus, who had recently been elected Consul, was summoned to a meeting of the Senate, where a sealed letter from the Emperor was opened and read. In it, Tiberius ordered the Conscript Fathers to immediately arrest his longtime agent and fellow consul Sejanus and execute him for treason on the spot! For once, Sejanus had no clue what was coming, but oh! How eagerly the Senate carried out that order! He was dragged screaming from the Forum and locked in the ancient Latumnia prison, and tried the next morning for treason. The trial lasted an hour; the Senate unanimously voted Condemno and he was strangled shortly thereafter. They rolled his body down the Gemonian stairs, and the crowd tore his carcass to pieces. There was rioting in the city all evening as the people tore down every statue and bust of Sejanus that they could find. His longtime lover Livilla is under arrest, along with both her children. Macro is now Prefect of the Praetorian Guard, and he seems like a much more reasonable fellow—for the moment, at least.

  Now everyone is waiting in anticipation to see what Tiberius will do next. The problem is, the people of Rome have not seen their Emperor for nearly five years! There are all sorts of rumors about him that swirl about—many claim that he has degenerated into a disgusting pedophile who has boatloads of children brought to Capri for his pleasure, and that he executes those who do not please him. Although my sources in Neapolis tell me that this is not true, the fact that the mob is willing to believe it shows how little they think of their Emperor now. We do not know what to expect with Sejanus gone, but no one I know thinks that things will get better.

  Pilate put the letter aside with a sigh. Now that he was three years removed from his close acquaintance with the Emperor, he was more objective than he had been while acting as Tiberius’ confidential agent and client. It seemed to him that Tiberius’ problem was that he simply did not like himself very much, and being perpetually disappointed with himself had made him disappointed with everyone else. He wondered sometimes if Tiberius had ever been truly happy.

  As for his own feelings about Tiberius, Pilate’s anger had faded since the birth of his son, although it was never gone completely. He blamed Caligula for the death of Porcia Minor, and would till the day he died, but his feelings for the Emperor were more of a detached pity than the rage that had consumed him. He would never be fond of Tiberius, but he could at least understand the man more now than he once did. He decided that he would write a personal letter to the Emperor soon, something more friendly than the professional reports on the province that he had been sending out.

  The day after his missive from Sullemius arrived, Longinus returned from an extended patrol in pursuit of Bar Abbas. He had managed to capture a couple of Zealots alive, but even under torture they had refused to betray their leader’s location—in fact, they would not even admit knowing where he hid out. But the unknown bandit leader was growing bolder—as Longinus could testify.

  “Right there in Capernaum, where my family lives, he set fire to the synagogue and burned it to the ground—and his men killed the local rabbi who was a good friend to me and my wife. He left his name carved on poor Samuel’s chest, so that we would know who was responsible,” said the centurion.

  “Horrible!” said Pilate. “Bad enough they attack the soldiers of Rome, but when they start murdering all who are friendly to us, things can get ugly very quick. What about your family? Are they safe?”

  Longinus nodded. “I am bringing them to Caesarea until this plays out,” he said. “Too many Roman citizens and sympathetic Jews are being targeted by this scum.”

  “Do we know anything about him yet?” asked Pilate. “What sort of man is he? Does his name give us any clues?”

  “Bar Abbas just means ‘son of my father’ in Hebrew,” said Longinus. “It’s commonly used by the sons of prostitutes or adulteresses who have no idea who their true father was. I did get a bit of a description from one of the Zealots we interrogated. We had to remove most of his toes before he started talking, but when he finally broke he gave us some details.” He unrolled a small scroll and read aloud: “‘A man of less than average height, but broad shouldered and powerfully built. He has a large scar down one side of his neck, and a chunk of his left ear is gone.’ According to the man we interrogated, he is incredibly strong. When one of the sicarii flinched at killing the Jewish children of a Roman citizen, he picked the man up and strangled him barehanded while holding him in the air. I’m a strong man, Prefect, but I doubt I could do that to the smallest member of our legion. This fellow is a brute!”

  Pilate sighed. “All the more reason we need to find him and nail him up!” he said. “If we cannot protect the people, or our own men, we will be held in contempt, and our governance of the province will be threatened. Continue to use all our resources to locate this man and his followers. Now, any other news of note?”

  “Herod finally arrested John the Baptizer at the insistence of his wife Herodias,” said Longinus. “Fat lot of good it did her, though. The king goes down to the dungeon to hear John preach and steadfastly refuses to lay a hand on him—apparently he either fears the wrath of God or the wrath of the mob.”

  “Herod!” said Pilate. “I got an invitation from him this week—he is throwing a celebration of his birthday in a fortnight. As much as I despise the man, I suppose I will have to go. Sorry, Centurion. What else?”

  “This Jesus of Nazareth is drawing a wide following,” Longinus continued. “He now has thousands flocking to hear him, and they say that he is cleansing lepers.”

  “Lepers!” said Pilate, his face wrinkling in disgust. “Everyone knows leprosy is incurable, and highly contagious! Does he actually touch them?”

  “That’s what they say!” said Longinus. “In fact, he cured ten of them a couple of weeks back, all at once.”

  Pilate shook his head. “More than likely he’ll contract the disease himself if he persists,” he commented. “If the search for this Bar Abbas were not so demanding, I would have you go and listen to him. I am curious to see what kind of threat he might pose.”

  “None so far,” said Longinus. “One thing that all my sources agree on is that he avoids politics altogether, and only encourages his listeners to live their lives in honesty and purity. He says God cares more about the heart than he does about the Law.”

  “Then why have laws at all?” asked Pilate.

  “That’s why the Pharisees hate him so much,” replied Longinus. “Their devotion to the ancient laws of Moses is passionate to the point of fanaticism, and they seem to think this Jesus is going to set aside all those laws.”

  “Interesting,” said Pilate. “What does the Temple faction think about him?”

  “This is truly odd,” said Longinus. “The Sadducees and Pharisees have hated each other since I have been here—and long before that, from what everyone says. Yet both factions are united in their hatred of this Jesus of Nazareth. The Temple clique thinks that he will upset their cozy arrangement with Rome, and break their hold on the people’s religious loyalties. The Pharisees think of him as a dangerous heretic out to abrogate the laws of Moses. But the common people adore him, flock to hear him, and apparently believe him capable of all manner of miraculous deeds.”

  “And what do you think, my compass of all things Jewish?” asked Pilate.

  “I think I would like to hear him for myself,” said the centurion. “I am very curious about him.”

  “Maybe soon,” Pilate said.

  Over the next couple of weeks there were no further attacks, and no clues emerged as to the location of the Zealot leader. Pilate decided to honor the invitation of Herod Antipas and attend the tetrarch’s birthday party with his wife. He brought young Decimus along, but included the child’s guards and nurse along with the entourage so that Porcia would be free to accom
pany him to the banquet. Given the events of the previous six months, they traveled with an escort of fifty legionaries and twenty-five mounted auxiliaries. They traveled quickly, and reached Herod’s impressive fortress at Machaerus. The massive hilltop fort also included a luxurious castle in which the king could enjoy a respite from the oppressive summer heat, and it was here that Herod invited his family, friends, and the leading citizens of Judea as he celebrated his fifty-fifth birthday.

  Pilate did not care much for Herod—the self-styled king (his official Roman title remained “Tetrarch,” which irritated Antipas no end, since his father had been recognized by the Senate as “King of the Jews” throughout his reign) was a pompous ass whose long-winded, self-promoting monologues bored the Prefect to tears. But, being a politician, Pilate was aware that good relations with the native ruler were part of his responsibilities as governor, regardless of his personal feelings.

  Perhaps attempting to atone for their previous argument, Herod made sure that Pilate and his wife were accommodated in a luxurious suite, with an adjoining room for their son. Little Decimus squealed with delight when he saw the carved wooden elephant with movable joints that had been deposited on his bed as a gift. Leaving the boy and his nurse to explore the elaborate nursery, Pilate and his wife bathed and donned clean garments for the evening’s festivities.

  Pilate wore his formal toga, bordered in purple to mark his imperium as Prefect, with purple stripes on the sleeves denoting his Proconsular status. Porcia wore a beautiful, sky-blue gown trimmed in pearls, with a single diamond solitaire around her neck and a woven net of pearls in her hair. Shortly before sunset, they were escorted to an elaborate dining hall, where the couches were piled high with cushions and the tables groaning with food.

  The guest list was impressive. As High Priest, Caiaphas could not dine with Gentiles, but he had sent his father-in-law, Annas, the former High Priest, along with several other retired priests, to represent the Temple. A number of wealthy merchants and Roman citizens were also in attendance, as was Pilate’s nominal superior, Aelius Lamia, the Proconsul of Syria, who had been in Rome for most of Pilate’s term thus far and was conducting a brief tour of the provinces under his command before returning to the capital. All told, somewhere between fifty and a hundred people reclined at the dining couches as the servants prepared to begin filling their plates.

  Herod was thoroughly enjoying himself—seated next to his wife Herodias at an elevated couch near one end of the room, he rose and greeted the guests in his usual florid fashion, then drained a cup of wine and wished for continued good relations between Rome and the people of Judea and Galilee. Herodias simpered and smirked next to him. Pilate had no doubt that she had been a beauty in her own time, but that time was clearly passing. Heavy applications of stibium could not erase the wrinkles that were beginning to line her face, and there was a hardness to her eyes that belied the giggling, girlish attitude she affected. No one knew her precise age; some said she was only forty, while others said she was almost her husband’s age. By all accounts, she was not a woman to cross.

  The food was rich, varied, and delicious. Pilate enjoyed good food, but always tried to eat in moderation, since he tried to keep his body in top condition. This evening, however, he made an exception and tried to sample a bit of every delicacy that was offered—everything from roast crocodile to glazed hummingbird tongues to the exquisite flounders that Romans prized above every other marine fish.

  After the courses were served, the opening of birthday presents began. Pilate had gifted Herod with a beautiful, ornate shortsword modeled on the gladius carried by legionaries, but encrusted with jewels and a golden hilt. Lamia the Proconsul gave him a proclamation from the Roman Senate, allowing him to officially refer to himself as a client king, although his actual rank remained that of tetrarch. Herod humbly thanked the Roman Legate, although his eyes betrayed his contempt for the paltriness of the gift. Other, richer gifts followed—a tame ostrich with a golden collar, six comely Macedonian slave girls (whom Antipas leered over, while Herodias regarded them with a venomous glare—Pilate did not envy the lot of those hapless slaves!), a pair of golden goblets encrusted with rubies and emeralds from the High Priest, and on and on it went. Finally, when the last gift had been presented, Herodias stood up and spoke.

  “In tribute to her father’s generosity and grace, my daughter Salome will now dance for the king!” she said, and clapped her hands. A beautiful, lissome young female pranced into the room, accompanied by three slaves playing the flute, lyre, and timbrel. She swirled about the room with consummate grace, pirouetting and leaping in time to the music. The long, silken scarves that covered her nubile form were shed one by one, and as the tempo of the music sped up, so did the rate of her disrobing. By the time the final note was sounded and she knelt at her stepfather’s feet, Salome was wearing only the golden slippers she had danced in, and a few gems scattered in her luxurious black hair.

  Pilate was no prude, but he was somewhat scandalized nevertheless. It was one thing to have a slave perform a titillating dance at a birthday banquet, but one’s own stepdaughter? It crossed all bounds of propriety!

  Herod was enthralled, however! He had ogled every moment of the dance, and when it was done, he stood and applauded loudly, joined by most of the sycophants and merchants in the room. Pilate followed the lead of Aelius Lamia and gave a few polite claps of his hand, then resumed his seat. As the banquet hall fell silent, Herod spoke.

  “Lovely daughter, your performance was most incredible! What a beautiful flower you have become, fit to adorn the garden of a king!” Porcia looked at Pilate and raised an eyebrow. The man was laying it on thick, her glance said. “In gratitude for your skill and grace, and your oft-shown willingness to make an old man happy,” Herod continued with a leer, “I reward you with any request that you may desire! Indeed, up to half my kingdom is yours if you request it!”

  Salome leaped to her feet, deftly wrapped one of the silks lying on the ground around her waist, and ran to her mother. Pilate could not hear what took place between them, but the girl’s excited smile faded at what her mother said. She shook her head vehemently, but Herodias fixed her with a glare so fearsome she hung her head and returned to her place before the king.

  “For your generous offer, Father, I thank you,” she said. “After consultation with my beloved mother, the one thing I request of you is simple and plain. Bring me the head of John the Baptizer upon a platter!”

  King Herod paled and sank back onto his couch. He shot a desperate glance at his wife, who returned it with a look of pure triumph. No one in the banquet hall said a word. Finally, Herod turned to one of the guards and whispered something. The man nodded, and taking two others with him, disappeared from the chamber. People began to whisper, and then Herod stood once more.

  “Musicians!” he cried. “Give us something merry!”

  The three-piece ensemble struck up a sprightly tune, and life began to return to the party as Herod weakly sank back down onto his couch and drained another glass of wine, his face still pale. Some of the guests began talking and laughing loudly, but most were still trying to process what had just happened. Salome managed to wrap herself in enough silks to restore a measure of decency and stood to one side, nibbling fruit off of a tray. Pilate looked at the succulent morsels on his plate and pushed them away—the whole tawdry exchange had taken his appetite. Lamia glared at the Jewish potentate with raw contempt.

  Perhaps ten minutes passed before the large doors behind Herod’s couch opened again, and one of the guards entered bearing a grisly trophy. There on a golden platter was the bearded head of the hapless prophet, eyes serenely closed, blood soaking his dark hair and beard. Whatever else could be said for him, thought Pilate, John’s face was that of a man who faced his end with courage, leaving his dignitas intact.

  The soldier carried the tray to Salome, who swallowed hard, looking sick, and carried it to her mother. The minute she handed it off she ran from t
he banquet hall, and the sound of her retching was clearly audible moments later.

  Herodias lifted the prophet’s head by the hair and looked at the dead face with a gaze of intense satisfaction, then spat upon it and tossed it back onto the platter. Herod glared at her. “You have your trophy, woman! Now get out of my sight!” he snapped.

  She hesitated, and the Jewish king raised his hand as if to strike her. She froze him with a vicious look, then gathered up the tray and swept from the chamber. Herod turned to his guests and found himself met with looks that ranged from anger to contempt to amusement.

  “I must apologize for this horrible interlude,” he said. “But once I had given my word to the girl, I was bound to honor it—”

  “SHAME!!” thundered a voice from the end of the room. Rheumy old Annas stood there, fixing the Tetrarch of Galilee with a look of pure contempt. “You have brought shame upon your father’s name tonight, King of the Jews! You who were never worthy to pull up your father’s bootstrap! The old king killed many men, some for good reasons, and some for bad, but he would never have murdered a holy man simply because a pubescent girl shook her bosom in his face! You are a thrall of strumpets, a king of whores, a disgrace to your family! I may have despised the Baptizer as an Essene extremist, but he had more honor in his camel’s hair robe than you possess in your entire plump carcass!”