The Daggerman

by Glenn Starkey

  High walls and massive gates surrounded the praetorium, concealing from view the grandeur and luxuries Herod had constructed for himself. Tales were told of its lavish interior with polished white and black marble floors with intricate mosaics, gold plated furniture, silver and exotic jewels embedded in walls and pillars at every turn. Many a servant had contributed to the accounts, and few people doubted them.

  Atop the walls and at every gate stood squads of Roman soldiers in russet tunics and long capes, heavily armored, with spears in hand. The greatest number of soldiers were posted on the inside of the iron fence and gate leading into the massive courtyard below a porch of the residence. Their spears were kept leveled at all times in order to advance and spear protestors through the iron bars. It was to this gate the crowd led Hanan.

  Forcibly making his way through the people to reach the iron fence, he saw several of the men he had assigned to follow Yeshua’s mother, then observed her pressed against the bars, watching the proceedings in the courtyard. The horde of curious pilgrims and citizens surged forward but Hanan put his muscled arms about Miriam, moved her between him and the iron fence. She hugged two women close to her; one he knew as Mary Magdalene, a follower of Yeshua, and the other known as Mary, the mother of the sons of Zebedee.

  Using his back and the immense strength in his arms, he forced the people back until her and her companions could safely stand without fear of being crushed. Seeing that her protector was Hanan, she hugged and thanked him for having come. Her eyes were red and puffy from constant crying.

  “Why are you here in Jerusalem? I thought you were still in Nazareth,” he asked.

  “I knew my son would come to the Passover and I hoped to see him. Oh, Hanan, they arrested Yeshua at midnight and took him to a priest named Annas for questioning, then to the home of the High Priest Caiaphas for more questioning, and now he’s here at the Roman prefect’s home.” She looked through the iron bars to the robed priests and armed temple guards that stood about Yeshua in the courtyard. His head was barely visible among them.

  “Hanan,” she said, raising her face to him. “He’s been beaten... One of his cheeks is swollen and an eye is half-closed. There was blood coming from his mouth and—” Her words tapered off and she leaned against Hanan’s massive chest and wept.

  Wrapping an arm about her shoulders, he didn’t know what to do except gently stroke her head. Pain clenched his soul and guilt consumed him at not having stayed to defend his friend from being arrested. He looked at the priests waiting in the courtyard then let his gaze drift to the people standing near. The one known as Peter stood by the iron fence, staring through the bars at Yeshua and the men surrounding him.

  “You, disciple,” Hanan yelled to get his attention.

  Peter pulled his shawl over his head and tried to conceal his face.

  “Aren’t you one of the rabbi’s disciples? One who deserted him in his time of need?”

  Turning to Hanan, Peter’s face was a mask of terror. His eyes flared as he adamantly shook his head. “No, no, it wasn’t me. I don’t know him.” But at the sound of a rooster crowing in the distance, the disciple’s mouth shot agape and he grew pale.

  Hanan scowled as he watched Peter push his way through the mass of people to flee.

  A man turned from the iron bars to Hanan. “Yeshua told Peter that before the rooster crows three times, he would deny knowing him. That was the third time. I know because I am John, one of the disciples, and was there when Peter was told.” The man’s eyes were wet, and the remnants of tears shone on his cheeks. “Yes, we did run, but were ordered to do so by our teacher.” He looked at Hanan for several seconds then turned his attention to the governor walking out onto the porch.

  “What do you want at this hour of the day, Caiaphas? The sun is not up yet?”

  Hanan gazed at the porch above the courtyard. The Prefect Pontius Pilate stood with fists resting on hips, dressed in a soldier’s russet tunic, and ceremonial, dark brown, chest armor with his sword, a gladius, hanging from the right side of a wide belt. He glared at the Sanhedrin priests below him. A servant carried a shiny chalice to him. He drank until it was empty and gave it back.

  With the pilgrims and citizens noisily mumbling, wailing, and whispering about him, Hanan couldn’t hear what either Caiaphas or Pilate were saying.

  “Quiet, you fools,” he said as loud as he dared so the prefect wouldn’t hear him. When he looked back to Pilate, legionnaires had walked down the steps and taken custody of Yeshua. They led him up to the porch and followed Pilate into the house.

  “Why didn’t the priests go with him, Hanan?” Miriam stood gazing at him.

  “If the priests enter the Roman governor’s palace, it will make them unclean for the festival ceremonies and they would not be able to eat the Passover meal.”

  “But why bring my son here to the prefect?”

  A long pause passed before Hanan could find the courage to answer Miriam.

  “Because they have judged him to be a criminal yet have no right to execute anyone. Only the Romans may do so—only Pilate may order his death.”

  ***

  “Tell me, are you the king of the Jews?” Pilate slowly walked a circle about the beaten prisoner, looking the slender man over from head to foot. His soldiers formed a wide circle about them in the massive room where the prefect conducted his daily affairs.

  “Is that your own belief or have others talked to you about me?”

  “Should I care? I’m a Roman. Your people and your high priest handed you over to me. What is it you have done to warrant their hate? Caiaphas said you call yourself the king of the Jews. Are you a king?” There was no hostility in Pilate’s voice as he questioned the prisoner.

  Yeshua looked at Pilate when the prefect halted in front of him.

  “My kingdom is not of this world. If it were, my servants would have fought to prevent my arrest by the Jews. No, my kingdom is from another place—one with our God, Elohim.”

  The governor of Judea softly grinned. “You are a king, then,” he said.

  Nodding once, Yeshua gazed at him. “You are right in saying I am. It is for this reason I came into the world, to testify to the truth. All on the side of truth listen to me.”

  Pilate renewed his walk about the prisoner, shaking his head as he looked at the floor. When he came back around to the front of Yeshua, he stopped and let his gaze drift to the man’s face.

  “Truth? What is truth?” Pilate’s brows rose from his bewilderment. He studied him for several minutes, waiting for an answer.

  The prefect knew of the miracles Yeshua performed and his reputation, yet had never heard of the young rabbi urging rebellion. Claudia had counseled too against becoming involved in the squabble between the Sanhedrin priests and the Nazarene the people called a prophet, the Anointed One.

  When no reply came from the prisoner, Pilate rested his right hand upon the hilt of his sword and glanced at his military aide.

  “Bring him.”

  With Yeshua and his soldiers trailing him, Pilate returned to the porch.

  ***

  “I find no basis for a charge against him,” Pilate declared, staring at Caiaphas in the courtyard.

  “How can you not find guilt in him? He travels throughout Judea proclaiming to be the king of the Jews. He began in Galilee and—.”

  “Wait,” the prefect shouted, holding a hand up to stop Caiaphas. “Is he a Galilean?”

  “Yes, and all of the men who follow him.” Caiaphas wryly grinned as if he believed this new revelation had stirred the Roman governor to action. But it wasn’t the action the high priest expected.

  Pilate waved his soldiers to return Yeshua to the custody of the priests. “I know Herod Antipas is in town to observe the Passover. Take your prisoner to him. He’s under Antipas’ jurisdiction, not mine.” Having spoken, the prefect marched away
before Caiaphas could voice an objection.

  ***

  Hanan heard Pilate’s order and pulled Miriam and her two friends away from the gate. He knew the Romans were about to use their spears to clear the way for the priests with their prisoner and temple guards to leave. A centurion shouted an order and without hesitation, a squad of legionnaires moved forward, driving their spears between the iron bars. The crowd cried out in fear and backed far away. The gate opened long enough for the priests to pass through, then swung shut behind them. Half dragging their prisoner, Caiaphas and his entourage started toward Antipas’ palace with the masses close behind.

  “We should follow them,” Miriam urged in a frantic tone.

  “No, they will bring him back here. Yeshua has been preaching for months in the tetrarch’s district. If he thought Yeshua was advocating rebellion, he would have already arrested and executed your son long before now. This will merely be a game between Antipas and Pilate with neither man wanting the political repercussions. It’s best we remain here.”

  Seeing Simcha watching from across the street, Hanan walked to him. They spoke and the little man raced after the priests.

  ***

  The sun outlined the horizon, ready to begin its ascent into the clear sky. The early morning air still held a chill but was swiftly dissipating. Crowds of pilgrims and curious citizens had stayed near the gate, but not in the numbers as before. A long hour passed as Hanan anxiously waited with Miriam. When he began to question the decision to remain, the cries and shouts of people moving toward him were heard.

  Running ahead of the approaching mob, Simcha stumbled to a halt before Hanan, panting in deep breathes. He tried to speak but Hanan gestured for the excited man to calm first.

  “They’re coming. Nothing more was done than mock and ridicule the rabbi. Antipas ordered him to perform magician’s tricks, but the rabbi stood in silence. The tetrarch pulled his purple robe off and placed it on Yeshua, saying a king should be dressed like a king, then instructed the high priest to return the prisoner to Pilate.”

  Caiaphas led the returning horde, his glower telling of his mood. The Roman soldiers swung the gate open long enough for the priestly group to enter then closed it, taking up their stations within the interior with spears leveled. As Yeshua had passed, Miriam cried out to her son, but he was shoved on by the temple guards and never looked her way. The purple robe lightly furled about him.

  Having been advised of the high priest’s return, Pilate sat upon a throne-like chair on the porch, staring at the approaching men. He knew they would not enter the palace and become unclean, but he chose to make them grovel before him in the courtyard. When the high priest and his entourage halted, the prisoner wearily stood among them. His left cheek displayed a wide, horrid red mark that blended into the crimson swelling of his partially closed left eye.

  Miriam moved to the iron bars and pressed her face between them to see her son. Stepping behind her for protection from the masses swarming to the fence, Hanan observed low ranking temple priests take up position near him and throughout the overflowing crowd in the street. He wasn’t sure what their role was, but he didn’t like their sudden presence.

  The noise of mumbling men and weeping women rose, making it difficult for Hanan to hear Pilate’s words to the high priest. Caiaphas swung his arms through the air as he talked, and the prefect angrily shook his head and shouted back at him. All Hanan could hear was Pilate saying innocent as he pointed to the prisoner. The priests in the crowd about Hanan began to yell blasphemer at Yeshua.

  Rising from his chair, Pilate glared at the high priest and let his gaze drift to the throng of people watching the proceedings from the gate. He raised his arms into the air to bring about silence.

  “By Roman custom at Passover, I may release a prisoner chosen by the Jewish people. We hold a criminal named Barabbas. Which do you want released? The murderer Barabbas or Yeshua who is called the Christ?”

  Caiaphas spun toward the gate and raised his arms into the air, shouting, “Barabbas... Barabbas... Barabbas!” Immediately the priests around Hanan began to echo his words, “Barabbas... Barabbas... Barabbas.” And half of the waiting mob joined the chant.

  “What shall I do with Yeshua the Christ?” Pilate shouted.

  A new chant came, led by Caiaphas whose face had become a mask of rage.

  “Crucify him! Crucify him! Crucify him!”

  Lowering himself back onto the throne, the prefect gazed in astonishment at the people.

  Hanan saw Pilate’s head lightly shake. It was evident he believed Yeshua was innocent.

  To the far left of the porch a beautiful Roman woman in an elegant white robe with jewels about her neck and in her black hair, walked out of the palace. She handed a soldier a paper and waited while he delivered it to the prefect. Pilate read it, his lips becoming a thin line. He grimaced then glanced at her and nodded. She returned into the palace.

  “What’s happening, Hanan? Who is that woman and what did she send him?” Miriam asked, looking back at her protector.

  “I believe she’s his wife and may have warned him of being caught in a trap by the Sanhedrin. Pilate’s back is against a wall. If he executes a man everyone believes is innocent, and an uprising is caused, it will displease the emperor Caesar Tiberius. He would question Pilate’s ability to rule and could order his death. If Pilate doesn’t execute Yeshua as the Sanhedrin want, they could petition Tiberius and say the prefect released a criminal that encouraged the people to rebel.” Hanan knew the prefect had few options in the matter, although, he had tried to release Yeshua earlier.

  The prefect had the prisoner brought from the courtyard up to him. He walked away from the edge of the porch so the priests below couldn’t hear their conversation, but to ensure privacy he ordered legionnaires to block Caiaphas’ view and stand along the edge of the porch. Once his men were in position, Pilate stepped close to Yeshua.

  “Where do you come from?”

  Yeshua remained silent.

  “You refuse to speak to me?” The governor’s eyes slowly closed as he shook his head in frustration. He looked at Yeshua again. “Don’t you realize I have the power to set you free or crucify you?”

  “You would have no power over me if it were not given to you from above.”

  “Tell me, are you the son of this god, Elohim, as I have heard?” In Pilate’s voice came a pleading for the right answer. But none came.

  The prefect ordered the soldiers away from his chair and had Yeshua stand near. Pilate stood staring at Caiaphas.

  From behind the high priest someone shouted, “If you let this man go, you are no friend of Caesar. Anyone who claims to be a king opposes Caesar.”

  The uproar was deafening, but among the calls for crucifixion were those who cried for mercy.

  ***

  Abaddon stood behind the chair, his yellowish tinted eyes within the shadow of his cloak’s cowl shifting from the governor to the prisoner. Long, bony fingers curled over the back of the chair; their sharp, dirty fingernails digging light rows across its cloth. He moved unseen by all from the chair to Pilate’s left side and whispered in his ear.

  “Have you grown so weak that priests now tell you what must be done? Show them you are the might of Rome, the fist that wields the sword in this land. Scourge this troublemaker. Crucify him and be done with this farce. Do you not hear the people? They are on the verge of rioting. Satisfy their thirst for blood and give them the death of this menace. Bring this to an end.”

  Backing away, a vile smile formed on Abaddon’s lips as he looked at Yeshua. But his smile faded when he realized Yeshua could see him and had been watching him all along.

  ***

  Pilate ordered Barabbas to be turned over to the temple priests. When he next spoke, his words were for his aide, but he stared at Yeshua.

  “Scourge him,” the prefect said i
n a low voice.

  Legionnaires grabbed Yeshua by his arms and led him down the porch stairs. Once in the courtyard they passed through a solid gate leading into an adjacent yard.

  A deafening uproar of arguments rose from Caiaphas’ priests, temple guards and the people outside the palace gate. While some continued to shout, ‘Crucify him,’ others cried out, ‘Release him.’

  ***

  Squeezing the iron bars, Miriam pressed her face between them and screamed, “No – no, he’s innocent!” Her legs went weak and she slid down the bars to the ground.

  Hanan gripped the fence bars over her head and used his immense strength to hold back the surging crowd from crushing her. His eyes were scrunched closed from the physical strain, and the muscles in his arms were bulged hard as iron.

  “Raise her up,” Hanan yelled to the disciple near her. John nodded and pulled her to her feet. He held her in his arms as she wept.

  Hanan felt the pressure of the shoving masses lighten like water draining from a vast jar. He breathed easier and relaxed as he watched them move down the street to another gate where they could watch the legionnaires with Yeshua. He turned toward the porch and saw Pilate angrily swinging his hands as he argued with Caiaphas.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Jerusalem, District of Judea

  Friday, Month of Nisan, Day 14

  Miriam broke free of John’s arms but Hanan caught her and held fast.

  “I must go to him,” she cried struggling against his grip. Her companions reached out to hold her and Hanan released Miriam to the two women.

  “No, Miriam, you do not need to see what is happening to Yeshua.” Hanan tried to keep a stern face, but the glistening in his green eyes gave him away.

  She shook her head, broke from the women, and hurried toward the next gate.

  Hanan’s emotions swirled like a violent maelstrom within him. He felt miserable, nauseated, furious, and helpless all within the same moment. But he raced after Miriam to protect her. It was all he could do for now.