Pontius Pilate: A Novel

by Paul L Maier

  Just then a wildly jubilant group poured out of the villa, waving their arms and cheering a tall, slender youth with broad forehead and hollow eyes. Though balding at the crown, the rest of his body was hirsute. He was smiling broadly at the acclaim.

  “LONG LIVE GAIUS CAESAR!” the people cried while clustering about Caligula, trying to kiss his hand. “The tyrant is dead! The shade of Tiberius be damned! LONG LIVE GAIUS CAESAR!”

  Caligula was beaming, acknowledging the adulation with both hairy arms raised. He pointed to Tiberius’s signet ring on his left hand, and the people raised a triumphant shout.

  A troop of praetorians marched into the courtyard with the thud of measured steps and then snapped to attention. A blistering trumpet call sounded. Squaring themselves into ranks, they extended their arms in a stiff salute and cried, “Hail Caesar! Hail Caesar! Hail Caesar!” again and again.

  Scarcely trusting his eyes or ears, Pilate could hardly absorb the news. Tiberius was dead. The focus of his anxieties, dead. The man who threatened his life and fortunes, dead. He luxuriated in relief at the incredible turn of events. No confrontation with an angry emperor! Probably a quashing of Vitellius’s indictment against him, as Caligula’s new regime began with clean slates. The tension which had been building ever since his citation to Rome now dissolved in a flood of joy. “Hail Caesar. Hail Caesar!” he joined in.

  The praetorian prefect found Pilate in that properly patriotic pose. “You’re Pontius Pilate, aren’t you?” asked Macro.

  “Yes, worthy Macro. Congratulations on the new princeps.”

  “Coincidence that you should arrive just as Tiberius died. He was rather angry at you after reading Vitellius’s report.”

  “I am prepared at any time to offer a full defense of my conduct.”

  “It’s impossible,” Macro said, “to decide on any hearing now, or even if there will be a hearing.”

  “Certainly.” Pilate noticed that the prefect was extremely nervous.

  “You’ll be in Rome?” Macro inquired.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll discuss it with the new princeps after he has taken office. We’ll let you know.”

  “Vale, my Prefect.” They exchanged salutes.

  Pilate went in to pay his respects to the body of the dead Tiberius. His relief confirmed by the unforgettable image of the waxen corpse being prepared for state funeral, he hurried back to Caudium in a triumphant mood.

  Procula wept for joy at the news. Together they finished the final leg of their journey to Rome, where they were feted at a second glad reception at the home of her aging but elated parents, the Gaius Proculeii.

  Chapter 23

  Tiberius was dead, and Rome broke into a carnival atmosphere at the news. People rushed into the Forum shouting, “Hook his body down the Stairs of Mourning!” Some openly thanked the goddess Roma for having delivered her city from the last feeble grasp of the tyrant. Others implored Mother Earth to allow his shade no rest until it had descended to its proper domicile of the damned. Though one of Rome’s ablest administrators, Tiberius had sacrificed his popularity by parsimony, his long self-exile on Capri, and, above all, by the dangerous legal climate.

  This is why the Senate and the Roman People united to pin their hopes on the popular prince Gaius Caligula. His father Germanicus had been both saint and martyr in the cult of the Roman state; his mother Agrippina and his two brothers had been persecuted and killed. “Little Boots” was the last member of a family nearly extincted by a fate from which they had deserved far better, in the popular mind. Therefore when Caligula escorted the body of Tiberius from Misenum to Rome, the roadsides were framed with decorated altars blazing with sacred torches. Masses of citizens were present to welcome the new princeps. Rome had become a mother, lavishing her vast maternal instincts on a new hero-son.

  Technically, Tiberius’s will had named Caligula co-regent with Gemellus, another younger grandson. But the Senate disregarded that testament in the name of Caligula’s obvious popularity and now unanimously conferred full and absolute power on him. For Roman livestock it was something of an unparalleled tragedy; more than 160,000 animals were sacrificed over the next weeks to implore an auspicious reign for Caligula.

  Whether or not in answer to such prayers, the new princeps began very well indeed. With proper reverence, he eulogized Tiberius at a magnificent state funeral in Rome, and when the flaming pyre had consumed the body, he carried the ashes to the circular mausoleum of Augustus. He did the same for the remains of his mother and brothers, crossing over to the islands of exile and personally reposing their urns in the same tomb as that of the man who had banished them. He renamed the month of September “Germanicus,” an added filial touch.

  Caligula revived republican-style elections, granted more authority to the Senate, and even recirculated republican writings which had been suppressed under Tiberius. Of paramount interest to Pilate was Caligula’s policy of recalling exiles who had been banished and dismissing indictments against all who were awaiting trial on political charges. He also publicly burned documents relating to former suits and warned informers that their field day was over. Quite naturally, the Romans greeted these policies with unrestrained enthusiasm.

  Further enhancing this popularity, Caligula canceled certain taxes while extending government generosity in staging free public shows, races, and gladiatorial combats. He also took a renewed interest in the equestrians, a class Tiberius had largely ignored. And so the day came when the Gaius Proculeii, the Pontius Pilati, and other prominent equestrian families in Rome were invited by the young emperor to a lavish banquet in his Palatine palace. It was here that Macro formally introduced Pilate to Caligula for the first time.

  Said the princeps, “Oh yes, Pontius Pilatus. I would like to speak to you sometime soon concerning Judea.”

  “I stand at your disposal, Princeps,” replied Pilate.

  This was the extent of their brief exchange, but it was enough to churn Pilate’s emotions. He had hoped that with the new regime there would be no review of his case. And yet, if Pilate wished to advance in Roman government, and he still did, then the cloud on his record would necessarily have to be dispelled before he gained higher office. And since the youthful Caligula seemed a fair and rational sort, unlike Tiberius, the latter prospect grew more attractive.

  Pilate decided to clean his slate. After getting his papers in order, he consulted with his second cousin, Gaius Pontius Nigrinus, who was one of the consuls for the year, and then planned to ask Macro to institute a hearing before the emperor at his earliest convenience.

  But Caligula and Macro anticipated him by several days, since the Samaritan delegation, delayed by the change of government, had now arrived. Pilate cursed his luck for not having seized the initiative a bit earlier. It would have looked handsomer if he as the defendant had called for his own trial. He was summoned to the Palatine early in June of 37 to answer the charges against him.

  The hearing before Caligula took place in a glittering and pillared hall of the Palatine palace overlooking the Forum directly to the north. Pilate had not brought counsel with him, since his ten years on the bench were more than enough schooling in Roman law. At first, Pontius Nigrinus had volunteered to accompany him to the hearing, but, on second thought, they both decided against it. As consul, Nigrinus would have been preceded by ten lictors, which the young Caligula might have misunderstood as attempted intimidation. It would also have enlarged the scope of a hearing Pilate wished contained. The only person he brought along was one defense witness, the tribune of Judea’s Italian Cohort, who was in Rome on furlough.

  What surprised Pilate was the small number in the Samaritan delegation, just four, and the fact that Caligula had someone else sitting with him on the dais, obviously an important friend, judging from the purple splashing about his costume. He had a Semitic look about him, incongruous with the Romans in the room, but akin to the four Samaritans. Or were there five? An erect and distinguished-looking man in
rich attire now joined them.

  The prefect Macro introduced the various principals at the hearing. The man on the tribunal with the emperor was called Agrippa; the fifth person in the Samaritan delegation he presented as “Thallus, the renowned historian.” He was Tiberius’s affluent and scholarly freedman who, Pilate suddenly recalled, was of Samaritan origin. So the prosecution had a friend at court indeed!

  Caligula opened the proceedings by pointing out that since the province of Judea was of imperial, not senatorial, rank, there could be no appeal from his tribunal to the Roman Senate. Both parties agreed.

  The Samaritans then formally indicted Pilate for excessive cruelty, assault and battery, massacre, illegal executions, and religious persecution.

  “Pontius Pilatus, rise to face your accusers,” Caligula directed. “How do you plead?”

  “Not guilty on all counts, Excellency.”

  Evidence was then taken from the prosecution. Three of the Samaritans had been present at what they termed the “Mount Gerizim Massacre” and showed Caligula scars from wounds suffered in the battle. In essence, they stated that theirs had been a peaceful gathering, solely for religious purposes. Weapons were brought along only for defense against highwaymen. Pilate erred brutally in executing fourteen of their leaders after wounding and killing others in battle. He should not have interfered with their religious observances in the first place. He was careless about Jewish religious practices as well, and they listed the familiar episodes.

  Thallus then submitted a further document, Vitellius’s formal explanation to Tiberius of why he had ordered Pilate’s suspension. Caligula directed that it be read aloud. Listening carefully and making occasional notes, Pilate was disturbed at how much extra material Vitellius had included concerning the various frictions, imbroglios, and riots which had broken out under his administration in Judea. Genuine concern throbbed inside him for the first time. He who had presided over countless cases in the past was now on the other side of the bench. The judge was being judged.

  Thallus was conducting himself brilliantly as prosecutor for the Samaritans, and both Caligula and his friend Agrippa started to stare at Pilate with all the fascination of two hawks eying a common prey. Pilate continued scribbling notes with his stylus and nervously rechecking the order of his depositions. Once he leaned over to confer with the tribune from the Italian Cohort.

  When Thallus had finished, Caligula called for evidence for the defense. Pilate began by countering the formal indictments. “The charges of ‘excessive cruelty,’ ‘assault and battery,’ and ‘massacre’ cannot stand,” he argued, “for Rome could bring a countersuit against the Samaritans on precisely the same grounds. This was military combat, a formal, pitched battle between two Roman cohorts and a de facto Samaritan army, since the insurgents had many more weapons than would ever have been needed against highwaymen. Every man was armed. Granted, a few defensive weapons against brigands would have been acceptable as they came separately to the village of Tirathana. But after they had united into a multitude of thousands, why did they remain armed? Why, if this were a religious procession? It would be ridiculous to assume that bandits would have tried to attack a throng of that size.

  “In this connection, I submit for your examination my letter of suspension from the proconsul Vitellius. You will note a different reason stated here for the Samaritans being armed.” Pilate showed Caligula the sentence: “They have sworn to me that the gathering…assembled at Tirathana only as refugees from your violence.” Then he resumed, “The plaintiffs knew that this was a hastily contrived lie at the time. They assembled at Tirathana certainly not as refugees from my violence, but as a staging area for their ascent of Mount Gerizim. So now they have altered the indictment. I submit that this represents the way they have handled truth in their entire version of the episode.

  “Now, as to the remaining charges, just as there was no religious persecution on my part, so also there were no illegal executions. With many of our Roman auxiliaries wounded, dying, and some dead, I naturally meted out appropriate punishment to the leaders of what was clearly a treasonable insurrection against imperial authority. Under martial law they were judged and executed. Any Roman magistrate in these circumstances would have acted in a similar fashion.”

  As witness for the defense, Pilate now had his tribune give a detailed account of what transpired at Mount Gerizim. His testimony showed the Samaritans in a substantially different light from their own claims as a peace-loving folk bent only on a religious quest. Finally, Pilate laid his depositions before Caligula, which further supported the tribune’s version and testified to the military conquests expected of the Samaritan “Restorer.” The princeps and his friend spent some minutes reading through them. Then Caligula called for the summations.

  Thallus sought to rebut Pilate’s arguments, stressing particularly that the leaders of a Samaritan religious gathering should not have been massacred with that kind of un-Roman barbarity. He also leaned heavily on Pilate’s previous troubles in Judea. Finally he suggested, “Exile, no, death itself is not too great a punishment for one who has so shamefully abused his public trust in a province of imperial Rome.”

  Shuddering inwardly, but also angry at Thallus’s request, Pilate countered in his summary by pointing out that he was not presently on trial for any problems with the Jews, but that he would gladly broaden his defense in that respect should the princeps be willing. “But a martial-law execution of the chief seditionists in a thwarted rebellion is certainly within the prerogatives of a Roman provincial governor.” Pilate went on to cite examples of similar executions in other Roman provinces at various times in history.

  “Finally, as to my alleged troubles with the Jews, not a prefect assigned to Judea has returned without insisting that these are a most difficult people to govern. The province is undergarrisoned, underestimated, and misunderstood in Rome. In this situation, a provincial governor must halt incipient insurrection immediately, particularly when it breaks out on the major arterial highway of his land. Despite these difficulties, the emperor Tiberius continued me in office for ten years, which he certainly would not have done had my administration been inadequate. You recall his concern for good provincial government. As to my occasions of friction with the Jews, these are minor compared to the riots which periodically flare up between Samaritans and Jews.”

  It was a telling point, so Pilate concluded, “Excellency, I rest my case.” He sat down, confident that Caligula, as one Roman official to another, would appreciate his arguments and acquit him. He still did not understand what the man named Agrippa was doing on the emperor’s tribunal.

  Caligula retired for a few minutes with Agrippa. Pilate was nervous, but optimistic. The tribune smiled and patted him on the shoulders.

  Then the emperor returned. While asking Pilate to stand for the judgment, he had a peculiar smile on his face which faded rapidly. Fastening hollow gray eyes on the defendant, he announced, “Pontius Pilatus, I absolve you of the charges of massacre, illegal executions, and religious persecution…But I find you guilty of assault and battery, and of excessive cruelty.”

  Pilate’s jaw sagged open in astonishment.

  Caligula continued, “A provincial governor who knew the art of diplomacy would have been able to find some recourse other than bloodshed and execution. You might at least have let the proconsul Vitellius hear their case.”

  Pilate remained stupefied, incredulous. Caligula was showing political naiveté. “But Excellency,” he blurted, “our history is full of instances where insurrection was dealt with exactly as I handled it. Innocent Roman lives were lost to rebellious—”

  “You dare interrupt me during sentencing?” Caligula glared.

  Pilate curbed his tongue and lowered his eyes to the highly polished, tessellated floor. The throbbing of his heart caused a welling, rhythmic pressure in his eardrums. He felt nauseated. Chilly sweat broke out and trickled down his spine.

  “Tell me, Pilate.” Caligula s
mirked. “Can you imagine what being hurled from the Tarpeian Rock would be like? Or being decapitated in the Tullianum and having your body hooked down the Stairs of Mourning? Like Sejanus?”

  Pilate’s eyes flashed about in horror. He saw that the Samaritans were smiling in eager anticipation.

  “Well, you probably deserve such a fate, but in our gracious charity during this inauguration of our reign, we sentence you merely to confiscation of your entire estate and exile for life…You have three weeks to leave Italy—not a day longer. Perhaps…yes, perhaps Vienne in Gaul might be appropriate.”

  Pilate’s thoughts wrestled in helpless inner turmoil. Caligula’s charity, a small consolation…It didn’t make sense. Trials for people far guiltier than he had been dismissed…What would Procula do now? Slowly he raised his eyes to the young princeps and saw only unbending resolve in the contemptuous cast of his countenance.

  Caligula dismissed the Samaritan delegation with vague promises of compensation from Marullus, the new provincial governor whom he would shortly dispatch to Palestine. At the same time he warned them that Rome would tolerate no further armed meetings of any kind.

  Agrippa walked over to Pilate, who was still anchored to the spot where he had been sentenced. “What’s the matter, Prefect?” he asked. “You feel you’re innocent, do you? What does that matter? Haven’t you ever condemned an innocent man?”

  Pilate was instructed to remain where he was until Caligula and Agrippa had conducted the Samaritan delegation out of the palace. The tribune offered his sympathies and excused himself. Pilate slumped into a couch and propped his chin on his left hand. The gold ring which had conferred friend-of-Caesar status on him cut into his jaw. He pulled it off his finger and flung it out a window toward the Forum below.

  Perhaps he should have been thinking of how best to break the news to Procula. He might have considered some kind of final appeal to the mercies of Caligula. Conceivably, he could have philosophized on the fragile bubble of contrarieties which is human existence. Or he might simply have succumbed to despair. Strangely, Pilate himself thought, he did none of these things. He merely reflected on Agrippa’s last remark to him and about the event it conjured up. Had he never condemned an innocent man? So this is how the prophet Jesus must have felt? No. Pilate had made a solid defense; Jesus had not. But no matter. They were both condemned. Where was justice? What is truth?