Fifth Gospel (39 page)

DECISION

T
he
same
moment that Claudia Procula woke from her dream Gaius Cassius too sat up in his bed covered in sweat with his heart pounding the drum of his chest.

He
had dreamt of a cold day and a sun obscured by cloud whose light was thrown over a man standing before a bull. The man, his heart bursting with fear and love, was held by a force, which travelled, pulsated and dissolved in pools and streams towards him. In his hand he held an ancient weapon, a weapon forged from the fires of heaven.

‘You are born from fire!’ he heard a voice in the dream say
. ‘Use the lance of fire!’

But w
hen he made to plunge the lance into the bull, it became Mithras before his eyes, and being unable to forestall the lance he realised with horror that he had killed Mithras, the God, and that his blood was falling to the ground.

In the dream the man shouted
, ‘No!’

But it was Cassius shouting himself awake
. With his mouth dry and his mind disordered he sat up in his litter and realised that he could hear a commotion coming from the streets outside the fortress. By the time the servant arrived with Claudia’s message he was already dressed and gathering a number of his men to make a way out into the streets into the mayhem of people and torches and flares, with the wind howling into his bad eyes.

Much had happened since
, and now, full of misgivings, he stood in the broad day upon the Pavement for the second time that morning, gazing down upon the great throng that now filled the square to the very corners.

Claudia’s portent had been accurate for Jesus was in peri
l.

Herod had not condemned
him and the priests, having got wind of it had gathered up the population and no doubt paid a good sum to a score of malcontents to add weight to their cause. He was glad that he had doubled the soldiery on the steps to the palace and that he had also placed archers on the parapets that ran on all sides with their weapons aimed and ready. For now the noise-some and riotous rabble, coarse and fierce, cried out abuse and jostled, vying for the best view of Jesus, as he was pushed and pulled and dragged by his chains into the square.

But t
he man he had shadowed in Galilee and in other places was not this man who came into the square wearing a bloodied white robe. Jesus was almost unrecognisable to his diseased sight.

As he was brought forward t
hose paid crowds mocked him and kicked and spat at him until he came to the wall of men guarding the stairs. They parted to let him through and he made a slow way over the steps and came to stand upon the
Pavement
nearby to Cassius.

The
sun was high and it was hot. The cross that had been branded on Cassius’ chest those years ago after his third degree, worried him. Moreover, an intoxicating scent, a pungent perfume of roses came from some place, and made his nose twitch. Cassius knew it was a scent used by the lady Claudia. She would be watching the proceedings from one of the windows that gazed out into the court. She loved this man and thought him a living god and because she loved him, his heart was sorely affected for her part.

The court grew silent
. Cassius squinted and saw that Pilate had returned and now stood on the other side of the Nazarene. He tried to wipe away the brown film over his eyes but could not.

‘Where is Caiaphas?’ shouted Pilate.

The priest’s mitre was seen even before the man was, so engulfed was he by people crowding the archway to the square.

‘Make a w
ay for the priest!’ Cassius barked at the people.

Caiaphas, with Ananias as his shadow, came out into the lime coloured li
ght.

Pilate said,
‘This man, which you say has perverted the people, I have examined. I have found no cause in him for your accusations. Herod has also questioned him and finds him innocent. I will chastise him and release him.’

‘No!’ Caiaphas yelled out, ‘Rome must answer to the needs of Israel! If he is judged guilty by the Sanhedrin he must be condemned
by Rome!’

A great clamour ro
se upwards to the clouding sky.

‘The way you speak, Caiaphas, one would think that Rome was the servant of Israel and not the o
ther way around.’ Pilate sighed. ‘Is there any man who will speak for this man’s part?’

Caiaphas looked around him and Cassius
could only guess that his look was a warning to those who might dare to say a good thing.

‘I will speak!’
said a man. ‘My name is Nicodemus. I am an elder of the Temple. I told the priests, why do you contend with this man? He shows many wondrous signs, which no man has shown before. I have told them to leave him alone and to contrive not any evil against him! But their minds are set, for they held a meeting secretly, desiring that those who would speak on his behalf might not be present. They have also threatened any man that might come forward to defend him with excommunication and they have paid most of the ragamuffins who are now in this square to speak out against him and to intimidate the rest!’

‘Is this true?’ Pontius Pilate
frowned. ‘Have you paid these people?’

Caiaphas drew a half smile from his face, ‘Why should we do such a thing, Governor?’

‘Liar!’ Nicodemus said.

‘Have you
threatened the people?’ Pilate asked again.

‘Excommunication
is a well-known punishment for those who defend blasphemers and those who profane the name of God! This man Nicodemus and takes his part because he is a disciple of Jesus and cannot be trusted, governor.’

‘Has the governor become his disciple also?’ Nicodemus said, ‘For I he
ar him speak on Jesus’ behalf?’

Caiaphas
near snarled, ‘Shut up!’

Nicodemus
countered, ‘You do not like Jesus because he speaks the truth!’

Caiaphas
pushed forward, ‘Shut up again! If Jesus speaks the truth, then may you receive his truth, and his portion!’

Nicodemus retorted, ‘Amen, Ame
n! May I receive his truth and I know you will make sure that I receive his portion!’

Emboldened by Nicodemus other
Jews came now from the forum and pushed forward into the square to speak out on behalf of Jesus. A great dispute then arose among the supporters and detractors – enough to deafen the ear.

I
n the midst of this an attendant came to the Pavement to whisper something into Pilate’s ear. After that Pilate went to the pr
ae
torium and Gaius Cassius wondered if Claudia Procula had sent for him. When he returned he took Cassius aside and said to him, ‘Glance your eye about and tell me, you know the Sicarri, do you recognise any among the crowds? Are these the men the priests have paid to brew this foment?’

Cassius looked at the sea of faces, each melting into the other. He could not tell who
was who. They all looked alike to him, a rabble. But to admit it would be the same as buying a place on a long boat to a sedentary position in Rome. He wiped away the sweat from his brow. He had not heard anything from his spies about Sicarri, only that one of the man’s own disciples had betrayed him.

‘No,’ he said, ‘
there is no love lost between the Sicarri and the priests and so in my estimation these are not the men they would have harnessed for their purpose.’

‘
Who is here, then?’ Pilate’s tone was full of annoyance.

He gave
Pilate his best assessment. ‘It is likely these are Jews from the city, men already known to the priests.’

‘And those who love Jesus?’
Pilate rasped.

‘
They are not from Jerusalem itself, but from other places. The priests have made certain that most could not find a place in this square. ’

‘I see.’
Pontius pondered it, while the world fell into a clamour.

Pontius finally
raised an arm and there was silence. He paused, looking at the crowds.

‘According to custom,
’ he shouted, ‘Rome entitles the people to a privilege during the feast – the deliverance of one prisoner. I have a man in my dungeon, a murderer, a member of the Sicarri, the son of Abbas, one of those responsible for the massacre of your own citizens in these very streets some years ago. We caught this Bar Abbas only two days ago, planning another insurrection with two others, one called Gesmas and another, Dismas. These men are all sentenced to die, murderers and dissenters and thieves. Remember, this man Bar Abbas was responsible for the blood that ran in these streets, the blood of your kin, and after that he deserted even his own dying brothers to seek his own safety. I will let you choose to release one man this day, either this murderous coward, or the man called Jesus of Nazareth, whom you yourself have called
the Christ
, a man whom you have seen heal and preach and console the people.’

The crowd seemed paralysed with
uncertainty; a small group of his supporters called out, ‘Free Jesus! Free him!’

But Caiaphas shrieked his odium over the noise in the court, ‘No! Free Bar Abbas! Free Bar Abbas!’

A few people caught the contagion and more followed.

‘Bar Abbas!’ they cried with lustful passion, raising their fists
. ‘Bar Abbas!’

More and more joined in and drowned out
the voices of Jesus’ supporters until the din was unbearable.

Cassius
realised the reason for Pilate’s questions on the Sicarri now and the significance of it made the blood drain from his head.

H
aving first ascertained that there were no Sicarri present Pilate had made a gamble. He had gambled that the coins that were paid to this rabble would lose their lustre the moment the people were given the choice between freeing Jesus or the infamously despised creature responsible for the bloodshed of their kin. What Pilate could not have known was that he had gambled on the word of a blind man.

Pilate’s
voice spoke plainly of his amazement, and his annoyance, ‘Which man?’

‘Bar Abbas!’

‘You wish to release this filthy criminal, this murderer who killed your own people?’

‘Bar Abbas!’

‘What then shall you have me do with the prisoner, Jesus of Nazareth?’

Ananias now provided guidance to the throngs, ‘Crucify him!’

A chorus of yells and screams and vociferations now rang out and echoed in the court. The crowd swelled forward with excitement and vengeance, forcing the guards on the steps to pull up their shields and use them as weapons.

‘No!’ Pilate said
, and it sounded impetuous, ‘No! I will have him scourged…then we shall see what you think of it!’

He made a gesture to Septimus, the man who had been Cassius’
optio
years ago, but was now advanced. Pilate leant into him to whisper in his ear and after that he told his men to take Jesus of Nazareth to the forum where he would suffer his sentence.

Cassius came to Pilate. ‘I will go down with them to moderate the men.’

‘No.’ Pilate told him. ‘There will be no moderation. He must be sufficiently punished or they will seek his crucifixion. I want you to go to the fortress instead, gather all the soldiery at our disposal and return immediately, I sense that this day shall not end well!’

‘But who will control the executioners? They are blooded animals and when they are encouraged they will not easily give a m
oment’s pause for your orders.’

‘Septimus
will do it.’

Cassius said under his breath, ‘That man loves blood more than all of them combined!’

‘That is why I have chosen him,’ Pilate said, ‘when they see what Septimus can make of Jesus of Nazareth this miserable crowd will surely not seek more!’

Pilate left
, and Gaius Cassius stood upon an uncertain moment. He looked out to the crowds through the broken haze of his eyes and watched the form of the Nazarene make his abused way through the archway to the forum. There, surrounded by the lustful crowd the guards prepared to chain him naked to a pillar.

Public an
d terrible was this punishment.

The scourges
were made of leather thongs and armed with nails and spikes and bones. They tore strips of flesh from the back, the chest, the groin and the face until the prisoner was left an unrecognisable mass of blood and torn flesh.

Gaius Cassius was weary. He
was too old for this. In his heart there was no thrill, no anticipation, no rush of excitement at the prospect of such a spectacle of blood. He felt a particle of discomfort settle in his bones.

All was dust and shadow.
He told himself.

But it did not suffice.

He looked at the young soldiers, eager for the show to begin. They would see it for themselves in time how the years passed before their eyes until one day they would find themselves standing upon the Pavement of Rome. They would find themselves sour in the belly and weary of this god-forsaken outpost at the end of the world and yet incapable of living elsewhere.