The Master's Quilt (12 page)

“Surely you have not forgotten that it is a
well established, and I might add, inflexible rule of Hebrew law,
that proceedings in capital trials cannot be held at night.”

He turned abruptly to face Caiaphas and saw
the High Priest glance furtively in his father-in-law’s direction.
Annas remained pensive, but said nothing, his eyes hooded, his
mouth tight-lipped. Satisfied that he was on the right track, Doras
pressed his point. “Why was it that you saw fit to question the
Nazarene the same night he was arrested? And why wasn’t that
questioning done here, before the members of the Council?”

The murmuring began anew, and Annas scowled.
His bushy, jet-black eyebrows had come together at the top of the
bridge of his nose and his jaws were clenched tightly together. Had
he been a wolf, he would have been snarling.

Doras was unaware of these changes and seemed
unaware of the potential for disaster. “I submit to you that the
trial of the Nazarene was a sham, merely a formality to appease the
Roman sense of justice, and that the guilt of the accused had
already been determined—not by the Council, but by Caiaphas
himself!”

Several members jumped to their feet,
protesting loudly.

The only person unaffected was Caiaphas. He
remained silent, observing the tactics of his opponent with calm
reservation. Like a Roman centurion, well heeled in battle, he sat
unruffled at the first lunge of Doras’ figurative sword. He waited
and watched, trusting his inner sense to tell him when the feint of
his adversary would become the killing thrust. For now he was
content to use silence as his shield.

Annas called for order. “Explain the legal
basis for your accusation,” he growled.

All three scribes wrote furiously, diligently
recording the proceedings.

Doras, surprised at Caiaphas’ failure to
respond as he had planned, wondered if he misjudged the strength of
his opponent among the Council members. Unfortunately, he was now
deeply committed; he had no choice but to continue. He hoped that
he had not misread the tone of the Council’s request to the High
Priest two weeks ago, and he prayed that he had not seriously
underestimated the depth of his own support.

“It is clear to all of us that a trial before
the Sanhedrin was necessary because of the nature of the offense,”
he continued, keeping his voice steady even though his legs had
suddenly gone weak. “Rome refuses to recognize our religion, and
demands that we settle all internal religious problems ourselves.
Ironically, a second trial before Pontius Pilate became necessary
because a conviction involving the death sentence was secured.
Thus, in the name of Roman sovereignty, the Roman tribunal was
convened to review our decision, which brings me to the point of my
intervention in this matter.

“It is a peculiarity of our Law that in a
case where none of the judges defends the accused, and all
pronounce him guilty, the verdict of guilt becomes invalid. Because
the culprit has had no defense in the court, no sentence of death
can be handed down.

“I ask you, then, why the exception in the
case of the Galilean?” He let the question hang, intending for it
to become a source of agitation in the minds of the Council. “As my
learned brother has so aptly pointed out, Hebraic jurisprudence is
founded upon not only the Pentateuch, but upon the
Talmud
as
well. The Mosaic code, embodied in the first five books of the Law,
furnishes us with the necessary platform of justice, while ancient
tradition and Rabbinic interpretation supply the needed rules of
practical application.

“Nowhere, however, are we given leave to
create that which suits the needs of a particular moment.

“The man from Galilee stood accused out of
the mouth of one of His own disciples, a man named Judas, whom it
appears hung himself shortly after his former master was executed.
If this man Judas was initially a co-conspirator with Jesus, and
became His chief accuser only after receiving thirty pieces of
silver, then we also have a situation in which accomplice testimony
was used to convict prior to trial.

“Surely the High Priest is aware, having
spent many years studying our legal traditions, that accomplice
testimony is forbidden. If Judas was an accomplice, then Jesus was
innocent. Thus, His arrest was not only an outrage, but illegal as
well.”

The members of the Council exchanged glances.
Few at this point were willing to risk eye contact with Caiaphas.
Doras presented his case well. Those inclined to support the High
Priest did not want to commit themselves until they were absolutely
certain that Caiaphas would be triumphant.

“Before you ask the obvious question of why I
waited until now to voice my dissent, let me finish my point,”
continued Doras, his voice resolute. “If the capture of a
supposedly seditious rebel was not the result of a legal mandate
from a court whose intention it was to conduct a legal trial for
the purpose of reaching a righteous judgment, then we have not only
left ourselves open to the wrath of the Romans. . .but more
fearfully, to the wrath of God himself.”

He turned to face Annas and was startled by
the look he saw on the older man’s face: disgust and anger. He
faltered momentarily. There was nothing he could do but finish what
he started. He put everything he had into his words.

“Testimony in trials such as the one under
discussion is given under the sanction of the Ninth Commandment:
‘One shall not bear false witness against one’s brother.’ It is a
well-settled maxim of Talmudic Law that whosoever will not tell the
truth without an oath, will not scruple to assert a falsehood with
an oath. Indeed, many among us,” he added, glancing out of the
corners of his eyes at Caiaphas, “assert that swearing is injurious
in itself, and that one who consents to swear should, ipso facto,
be suspected of lacking credibility. The three witnesses who
testified against Jesus were given the following adjuration in the
presence of all assembled:

“‘Forget not, O witness, that it is one thing to
give evidence in a trial as to money and another in a trial for
life. In a money suit, if your witness bearing shall do wrong,
money may repair that wrong. But in this trial for life, if you
sin, the blood of the accused and the blood of his seed to the end
of time shall be imputed unto you . . . Therefore was Adam created
one man alone, to teach you that if any witness shall destroy one
soul out of Israel, he is held by the Scripture to be as if he had
destroyed the world; and he who saves one soul to be as if he had
saved the world.

“‘For a man from one signet ring may strike many
impressions, and all of them shall be exactly alike. But He, the
King of kings, He, the Holy and the Blessed, had struck off from
His type of the first man the forms of all men that shall live, yet
so that no one human being is wholly alike to any other.

“‘Wherefore let us think and believe that the whole
world is created for a man such as whose life hangs on your words.
But these ideas must not deter you from testifying to what you
actually know.

“‘Scripture declares: ‘The witness who has seen or
known, and does not tell, shall bear his iniquity.’ Nor must you
scruple about becoming the instrument of the alleged criminal’s
death. Remember the Scriptural maxim: “In the destruction of the
wicked, there is joy.’

“The two elements of this preliminary caution
are generally sufficient to bind the witness by the sanctions it
represents. However, in view of the events which allegedly
transpired at the tomb of the accused—three days
after
his
death—and in view of the increasing hostility of the people towards
the priesthood, I find it necessary to question the validity of the
trial of the Nazarene before this Council.”

Doras turned to his right and stared straight
into the smoldering eyes of the High Priest. “I submit that because
of his personal hatred of the Galilean, the High Priest was blinded
to the possibility of another solution, one which would not have
inculpated the entire Council in wrongdoing.” With great effort, he
shifted his gaze and turned to face the Council. “If Rome decides
that the Council acted not only rashly, but illegally as well, or
that we are no longer able to uphold the laws of our ancestors,
having invalidated our authority by disobeying our own doctrines,
then we will be required to submit to a final blasphemy— the Roman
administration of our religious affairs.

“The likely outcome of such sacrilege could
well be the destruction of our nation. In view of this possibility,
brought about by the carelessness and shortsightedness of our
current High Priest, I recommend to this Council—”

“Enough!” bellowed Annas.

The pair of eyes in the shadows at the back
of the hall blinked furiously several times, and there was a
muffled gasp.

Fortunately, no one in the room noticed.

“I have heard enough,” repeated Annas,
shaking with rage. “I will not listen to this political bantering
any longer. It has become painfully clear to me in these last hours
that we are a devastatingly divided Council. As such, we cannot
stand. Not against Rome, not against the world, not against
sin.”

He stared menacingly at Doras. “We are the
governing body of Israel and supposedly above the pettiness of
personal aggrandizement. It is clear to me that you, Doras, do not
have the best interests of this Council in mind. Further, your
preposterous allegations offend me. Your insinuation that the High
Priest, who has faithfully served his people, and God, for fifteen
years, has suddenly suffered a loss of objectivity is not only
objectionable, but laughable.”

He rose to his feet, scowling, and spoke
directly to the Council. “Is there anyone here who is willing to
formally accuse the High Priest of a breach of the sacred oath of
the priesthood? Is there anyone who will stand before God and
declare that Caiaphas has acted without restraint in the case of
the Galilean? If so, let him do it now.”

Doras scanned the stormy sea of faces,
seeking contact with those who, earlier, behind closed doors,
agreed to support him. Now, none would look him in the eyes.

The hall remained quiet. The scribes, poised
with pens in hands, had nothing to record, save the interlude.

Doras took several deep breaths and groaned
inwardly. He had failed. The trembling in his legs moved up his
body to his hands as he stared at Caiaphas with the look of a
defeated animal and relinquished his position. Without looking back
and without a further word he left the hall.

Caiaphas stood, approached the Dias upon
which Annas sat, and formally resumed his position of authority.
The session was over. There would be no formal charges, no further
investigation. Yet, he had won nothing but time. Doras had struck a
powerful blow. The wound would fester in spite of temporary
suturing by Annas.

There is nothing to be done now, except
ride the horse until it collapses
, he thought miserably as he
watched the members of the Council depart from the debacle.
I
hope the animal does not fall upon me and crush me in its death
throes.

He exchanged glances with Simon and noted
with sadness the look of resignation in his former teacher’s eyes.
It was evident that Simon also realized that no matter what it
might seem to the other members something of vital importance had
been lost here this night. Even as the tides of the great
Mediterranean subtly altered the contours of the surrounding
continents day in and day out, the ebb and flow of the tides of
change would slowly erode the power of the Council. The only
remaining cordon separating the nation of Israel from the
desolation and darkness of the unrepentant would gradually dissolve
until nothing remained. Even as water had the power to dissolve the
landmasses holding it captive into grains of sand, so too, words
had the power to unravel the fiber of faith woven into the heart of
a nation, dissolving it into strands of unbelief.

The ensuing two hours, after the last of the
Council members had left the Great Hall, passed Caiaphas by as if
he were a tiny ship adrift in the ocean of time. He felt lost and
disoriented, and he wished desperately to be freed from this
quagmire of impotency.

Now, as he sat in the darkness of doubt, his
mind replayed a scene from the past. The thoughts ran through his
brain, over and over again, like a herd of wild horses loosed
unexpectedly from captivity. And try as he might he could not get
the accompanying thundering echo of words out of his head:
Ecce
homo
. “Behold the man.”

Pilate had spoken those words to the crowd as
the Nazarene had stood before them. Embedded upon his bloodied
forehead was a crown of thorns. His back was flayed so badly that
the shreds skin looked like the blood-red pulp of grapes that have
been squeezed through the wine press.

Caiaphas had been standing among the crowd of
screaming, belligerent people, and even he had been sickened by the
brutality of the Romans. Yet he could not bring himself to cry out
for mercy. The maddened crowd of mostly Jews had screamed for
justice. “We have a law, and by our law He must die. . .because He
made himself the Son of God.” Then the Procurator paraded the
bloodied and torn lump of flesh before the multitude saying, “Take
you Him, and crucify Him: I find no fault in Him.”

The High Priest moved to the front of the
crowd, and there had been a brief moment in which he and Pilate had
locked eyes. In that instant each had looked into the depths of the
other’s soul; each had seen the intent of the other’s heart.
Caiaphas had seen fear in the heart of the Roman. Not the fear of
the unknown, but of the known. Now he realized that Pilate knew
what he, High Priest of the Most High God, refused to believe.