Lovernios had stood too. He put his hands on Joseph’s shoulders, searching his eyes deeply before he spoke.
“But that’s exactly what you do believe, my friend,” he said. When Joseph stepped back in protest, Lovernios added, “It’s what you’ve feared all along, isn’t it? Or why did you wait until James Zebedee’s departure before opening those clay cylinders? Why bring me from the isles to be here beside you when you opened them?”
Without awaiting Joseph’s reply, the prince reached down and picked up the net filled with clay amphorae, holding them near the fire to study them.
“Our only question now is whether to read these or to burn them,” he told Joseph. “Your master has taken a path I know well, you see. Among our people, only those who are chosen by destiny may follow the path of a drui, of a messenger to the gods. It’s a path that prepares one for the self-sacrifice that I think your Esus always intended to make in behalf of mankind. Such a path, as I said, also confers upon the messenger the wisdom and truth essential to the completion of such a goal. But there is another path, a path of far greater danger but bringing with it—if successfully carried out—vastly greater knowledge and power.”
“What sort of power?” asked Joseph.
Lovernios set the net down and regarded Joseph grimly. “We must find out exactly what those objects were, the ones buried by your ancestors beneath the roots of that oak tree in Samaria, and where they are today: whether they have indeed remained underground throughout these past two millennia, as I greatly fear they have not. For I suspect the story Esus of Nazareth intended to tell is not as simple as the rape of Dinah and the revenge wrought by her brothers. I think the kernel of truth in his story relates to a larger kind of transformation—and that the objects Jacob buried may be the key to the mystery.”
“But it was I who told you about those things,” said Joseph. “The Master never spoke of them. Besides, they were only clothes and jewels and personal treasures and the servants’ household gods, and they’ve been buried for two thousand years. So how could they relate to transformation, much less explain the Master’s actions?”
“You said the place they were buried was beside a sacred well and beneath a sacred oak, and the reason they were buried was to change the identity of the tribes descended from Jacob. This suggests they were not merely personal goods but talismanic objects invested with the charism of each individual member of the tribe,” said Lovernios. “The initiate who’s chosen that more difficult path I spoke of must first have possession of such talismans. They must be united in communal force during his invocation of the ancient mysteries. I feel certain this was your master’s objective. And if he elected to follow this path in behalf of your people, he himself must have obtained possession of your ancestors’ talismans. But whether he failed or succeeded in his final goal of transformation, now these objects must be returned to the earth again at once, to propitiate the gods.”
“I don’t understand,” Joseph protested. “You suggest the Master dug up objects that may have been buried for millennia—or perhaps never even existed—in order to gain for himself some mysterious power. But, Lovern, during his life the Master was capable of such feats as raising young Lazarus from death. And after his own death, he appeared to Miriam as in real life. What greater powers could there be than those he already held?”
The last flickers of fire had burned low, and by unspoken agreement the men started to break up the coals and prepare to return to Joseph’s ship. Lovernios hefted the net filled with clay amphorae, slinging it over his broad shoulder. Joseph could now see only the outline of the other’s muscular form. Lovernios’s voice came softly out of the darkness.
“When I told you that your master was possessed by a god, I fear I was not completely clear,” he said. “Instead, the druid believe that one is required to be a god—in order to bring forth a new Age.”
Syrian Antioch: Autumn, A.D. 35
THE TIME FOR TRUTH
And why do they consider Saturn father of Truth?
Is it that they think … Saturn (Kronos) is Time (Chronos), and that Time discovers the truth? Or because it is likely that the fabled Age of Saturn … an age of the greatest righteousness, participated most largely in truth?
—Plutarch, The Roman Questions
Lucius Vitellius, newly appointed imperial legate of Roman Syria, paced the floor of his chambers. These vast official rooms, where the business of Syrian Antioch’s Roman legions was conducted, overlooked the courtyard that connected them with garrison barracks for officers of the third legion. Whenever Vitellius passed the windows looking onto the court, he muttered a curse beneath his breath. Each time he did so, his scribe glanced up for an instant—then back quickly to the dictation before him, to see if he’d blotted anything. He was trying to clean a blotch just as the chief tackman came in.
“Where the devil is Marcellus?” Vitellius exploded. “I sent for him nearly an hour ago! Haven’t I enough on my mind, having just arrived to this state of chaos: first the damned Parthians and now the Jews?”
“Excellence, he sent me to say he’ll be only a bit longer,” the tackman apologized, dropping on one knee as he did so. “It’s the other officers: they’re haranguing him. They don’t want him to go to Judea if there’s going to be anything beyond just the hearings, they say. They don’t want a public trial—”
“They don’t want a public trial?” Vitellius’s face grew florid. “Be so good as to remind them just who is Roman legate!” Behind him the scribe, twisting in his seat, glanced anxiously toward the portal as if to escape. “Never mind,” Vitellius added furiously. “If I must, I’ll refresh my officers’ memories myself of who’s in charge here now!” He headed for the door, nearly colliding with the legionary officer Marcellus, just coming in.
“Sire, I’m sorry to be late,” the officer said, adjusting his mantle and bowing. “But as you must know, ever since Rome’s annexation of Cappadocia the officer corps has been tremendously taxed to maintain order among the troops, what with the Parthians harrying us the entire length of the northern border. And now this affair with the praefectus Iudaeae Pontius Pilate …”
Marcellus ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair and shook his head. “Quite frankly, our officers fear that if we place Pilate on public trial as planned, civil unrest may rock the whole of the southern region. The man is a political hot coal. From the beginning his actions have been provocative. He’s looted Jewish temple funds, profaned the temple grounds and priestly garments, run an aqueduct through a Jewish cemetery. A few years back he actually crucified a popular Jewish preacher alongside some common criminals. It’s all Jew-baiting, which is insupportable in the chief administrator of a Roman province—and now this massacre in Samaria. Please understand that the officers are justified in their concern. It’s a terrible quandary. If the court finds Pilate guilty, the Jews will be emboldened by at last having scored a triumph over Rome. But if he’s found innocent of ordering the slaughter of those hundred-odd Samaritan Jews, then open riots can hardly be unexpected.”
“My dear Marcellus, believe me, I have made myself well acquainted with the facts of the case,” said the legate, motioning him to have a seat. “You might have spared us both a good deal of time and frustration by coming here when I first called for you, since I have already taken my decision. There’s little that can or need be done regarding Pilate’s past transgressions. But for this latest offense, Pilate will be sent to Rome and tried there.”
“Before the senate?” said Marcellus in amazement. “But how can that be? Pilate is subject to you, the imperial legate. He’s a provincial military governor.”
“And a member of the equestrian order,” Vitellius added. “He can therefore be tried before a military tribunal of his peers, and then receive his censure or his sentence from the Roman senate.”
Marcellus smiled broadly at this incredibly clever solution to a problem he’d believed until that moment was insurmountable. But then he real
ized that the tackman and the scribe were still with them in the room.
“You may leave us,” Vitellius told the tackman, who departed at once. To the scribe he said, “I want you to read to Officer Marcellus what I’ve given you so far of my communiqué to Capri.”
The scribe stood up and opened the scroll, and read aloud:
To: Tiberius Caesar
Emperor of Rome
at Capreae
From: Lucius Vitellius
Imperial Roman Legate
at Syrian Antioch
Revered Excellence—
This is to notify Your Excellence that upon my authority as colonial legate of Roman Syria I have hereby removed Pontius Pilate from his post as prefect of Judea, relieving him of all further duties in the eastern provinces of the empire. Due to the severity of charges and weight of evidence against Pilate and the heat of popular feeling toward him, I’ve ordered him back to Rome to stand trial before a military tribunal of the equestrian order, and to be censured as found suitable by the Roman senate. I am replacing the former prefect with one Marcellus, a long-serving senior officer of the third legion, whose record I think Your Excellence will find impeccable.
I attach the report of a one-month investigation, by our regional military board, of a complaint lodged with the legion by the Samaritan council at Shechem, charging Pilate with crimes against the civilian populace and some of its leaders. I believe this report will thoroughly justify and support the action I have taken.
I offer my prayers to the gods for Your Excellence’s continued health, and that of the imperial family. And I beg leave to send my warmest regards to my son Aulus, for whose sake I shall burn a cone of myrrh that he may continue to please Your Excellence as cupbearer, dancer, and companion to the other youths there on the isle of Capreae. I remain the devoted and grateful servant of the Roman Empire:
Lucius Vitellius, Imperial Legate, Syrian Antioch
Report of the Third Legion at Antioch
investigation of charges in the matter of:
The Council of Shechem, Samaria,
versus
Praefectus Iudaeae Pontius Pilate
A written complaint has been brought by the civilian council of Shechem against Pontius Pilate, Roman prefect of Judea, for ordering the violent repression last month resulting in the deaths of one hundred twenty-seven Samaritan civilians—men, women, and children—during a religious pilgrimage of more than four thousand to the Hebrews’ sacred mountain of Gerizim. The complaint further charges that prefect Pilate ordered the subsequent detention, torture, and execution of some of Samaria’s most prominent citizens, most of whom had earlier been arrested by his instruction at the site.
Samaria is the politically important central region of Roman Palestine separating the province of Roman Judea from the tetrarchy of Galilee governed by Herod Antipas. The chief city, Shechem, is situated between two important religious sites: Mount Ebal and Mount Gerizim. A long-standing hatred exists between the Judeans and the Samaritans. For centuries, the Samaritans alone have maintained an ancient form of Hebrew worship centered on Mount Gerizim, which includes reverence of the dove and the sacred oak tree. All Hebrews, including the Judeans, agree that Mount Gerizim is a holy site of importance in the history of their faith. It is called by them Tabbur Ha’ares, meaning the absolute geographical center of the land, the spot on which the four quarters turn, or what we would call the Axis Mundi.
By legend, certain sacramental vessels and other treasure from the first temple of King Solomon in Judea were removed during the destruction of the temple and buried there, and upon the Jews’ return from Egyptian bondage their spiritual leader Moses instructed that sacred relics be placed there from their first tabernacle built in the wilderness, including the well-known Ark of the Covenant and even the tabernacle itself. The various branches of Hebrews also are in accord in their belief that the freshwater well near Shechem, still famous for its health-giving properties today, was dug by their ancestor Jacob, and that upon arriving in this land he built his first altar at that spot.
It has also long been believed among Hebrews of all persuasions that these sacred relics would come to light at the dawn of the millennium following Moses, which they reckon by their calendar is very close. So last month, after a Samaritan prophet foretold that the objects would surface just at the time of the autumn equinox, a crowd of four thousand gathered and made toward the mountain.
Hearing of this, Pontius Pilate called up a garrison of Roman soldiers stationed at nearby Caesarea, and had them disguise themselves as pilgrims and go to the pilgrimage site. When the pilgrims began their ascent of the sacred mountain, by Pilate’s order the soldiers cut many down. Others, especially the wealthy and prominent among them, were afterwards taken hostage and carried off to Caesarea, where they were interrogated regarding the motive of the pilgrimage, and then summarily executed, also at Pilate’s command.
When questioned by this tribunal, Pilate maintained he was trying to prevent civil disturbance, having learned beforehand that many of the pilgrims would be carrying arms. But as Samaritans and others customarily go armed against the brigandry rife in the region, and as many of those massacred at Gerizim were unarmed women and children, this explanation was deemed unsatisfactory. The prefect has been remanded into confinement at Antioch pending further action.
The inquisitors of this tribunal were in agreement, based on accounts by Roman soldiers present during the interrogations of captured Samaritans, that the prefect Pilate’s real interest was to learn where the aforementioned objects of Hebrew lore might be buried. In view of this possibility, we ordered an auxiliary phalanx of the third legion into the region to search Mount Gerizim. Their report states they found numerous spots on the mountain where earth had been freshly turned. Since the pilgrims had not yet begun their ascent when they were set upon by Roman troops, clearly this work had been done by others, perhaps under order of Pilate himself. But the ancient, sacred relics were not found.
Rome: Spring, A.D. 37
THE VIPER
I am nursing a viper for the Roman people,
and a Phaeton for the whole world.
—Tiberius, speaking of Gaius
Let them hate me, so long as they fear me.
—Gaius “Caligula”
“What fascinating little surprises life springs upon us, just when we least expect them!” the emperor Gaius remarked, with seeming pleasantry, to his uncle Claudius.
They were strolling arm in arm across the Field of Mars and along the Tiber toward the mausoleum of Augustus, its half-completed temple to Augustus the God left unfinished at Tiberius’s death. Gaius smiled to himself as if at a private joke. Deeply inhaling the scent of fresh spring grass, he went on:
“To think that only a month ago I was still regarded as ‘little Caligula’—Bootsie—‘born in a boot,’ raised by my father like a camp follower among soldiers,” he said. “And that at eighteen I was just another of those dancing-boys Grandpa kept for pleasure along with his harem on that dreadful rock of Capreae. Yet look at me today—at twenty-four I’m ruler of the whole vast Roman Empire! Wouldn’t Mother be proud?” Then his face suddenly clouded black with rage, and he snapped viciously, “If only she’d been permitted to live long enough to see it!”
Given the imperial family’s history, Claudius was hardly startled by this swift and violent mood change. He patted his nephew gently on the arm as they walked. Like the young emperor, whom everyone still fondly called Caligula, Claudius had spent his life wondering which of them, including himself, would be murdered next, and what other family member might be the one to arrange it.
It was widely rumored, for instance, that before Tiberius succeeded to the throne he’d murdered Germanicus—Caligula’s father and the brother of Claudius—in order to prevent Germanicus, as Tiberius’s legally adopted son who was favored by Augustus, from inheriting in his place. But that was the last family member whose cause of death remained merely a rumor—includi
ng Caligula’s own two brothers and his mother Agrippina, whom Tiberius had openly ordered to be exiled, beaten, and starved to death.
“Naturally, I’ll be suspected by some of complicity,” Caligula added, referring to the death of his adoptive grandfather. “It’s true I was there when Tiberius stopped at the country house in Misenum. I was there that night when he suddenly died. It was a case of indigestion following three days of banqueting along the road. But I admit it does look suspiciously like poison—and heaven knows I had as much motive as anyone to do the old goat in. After all, the man arranged the slaughter of nearly everyone he ever dined with.”
“Well, if that’s the case, and they all believe you did it,” said Claudius with a twinkle, “I wonder what wonderful awards the senate and citizens of Rome are planning to heap on you? Did you know, during your inaugural festivities there were mobs in the streets crying ‘To the Tiber with Tiberius’? Just like the good old days of Sejanus—what goes up must also come down.”
“Don’t say that!” cried Caligula. Pulling his arm away, he looked at Claudius with eyes strangely devoid of human expression. Then, with a smile that sent chills up Claudius’s spine, he said, “Did you know that I fuck my sister?”
Claudius was completely dumbstruck. Caligula had been known to have fits as a child, falling on the ground and frothing at the mouth, a symptom common to the Caesars. But now, as he stood there in the fresh air on the bright green lawn of the Field of Mars beneath the brilliant blue sky on this seemingly normal spring day, Claudius realized that this was no ordinary madness. He knew he must make some response to his nephew’s remark, and make it quickly.
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