The Redemption of Pontius Pilate (14 page)

He and Proculus chatted awhile longer about Senators they both knew, and affairs in Rome's provinces, and after an hour's conversation, Pilate excused himself. The sun was tipping past midafternoon, and he was eager to be home. It took about a half hour or more to walk to his home in the Aventine on a typical day; the streets of Rome were bustling with people of all descriptions and races, all come to the capital of the world to ply their trades and seek their fortunes. Between the Forum and his home he rubbed elbows with Syrians, Scythians, Greeks, Gauls, Jews, Ethiopians, and Arabs as well as countless ordinary citizens of Rome. Occasionally a litter chair was carried past him by slaves, curtains usually drawn, the occasional giggle or whisper betraying the presence of some wealthy Roman matron or maiden.

He stepped through the gate of his home and a servant immediately relieved him of his toga, slipping a comfortable house robe over his tunic. It was spring, but the air still had a slight chill as the sun crept westward. Procula greeted him with a smile. “Home before sunset!” she said. “You must have conducted your business quickly.”

“Not so quickly that your father didn't bend my ear for an hour with the latest gossip,” Pilate said, pulling his wife close for a quick kiss.

“The servants have an early supper prepared,” she said. “I thought that Porcia might enjoy a trip to the market before the merchants close up shop, and perhaps you and I could take a nap after a stressful day.”

Pilate smiled at the prospect. “That sounds quite pleasant,” he said. “Now where is our daughter?”

“Right here,
tata
!” she said. “Now, how long do you want to be rid of me? I figure one new gown per hour is an acceptable rate, don't you?”

“I pity whoever you wind up married to, you little mercenary!” he said with a mock scowl. “You will drive the poor man to debtor's prison!”

“Only if he wants me out of the house so he can ‘take a nap' with someone else,” she said impudently.

Pilate tried very hard to look stern, but found himself chuckling at her matter-of-fact tone. He reached into his purse and drew out several denarii. “This should purchase two gowns, if you spend it wisely,” he said. “I will expect Democles and Stephenia to go with you and watch you most closely! But first, let us recline at the table together.”

The meal was simple but tasteful and not filling; Roman fare tended to be heavier on fish and poultry, but lighter on beef and pork, than the Spanish dishes the family had grown accustomed to. A hot loaf of fresh-baked bread finished off the meal, with olive oil and garlic for dipping. When they were done, Pilate sent the two slaves off with his young daughter and instructions to give himself and Procula an hour or two to themselves. Once they were gone, his wife slid into his arms and looked up at him. “Why is it so hard for us to find time to be a couple?” she said.

“I believe the correct answer to that is: We have a daughter!” he answered, and bent to find her lips.

“I'm terribly sorry, Master,” came the voice of his steward, Aristion, from the door, “but you have a guest who requests audience.”

“Tell him to come back tomorrow!” snapped Pilate in irritation.

“He comes with a message from the Emperor,” said the steward.

Pilate groaned and looked at his wife. “I am sorry, my dear,” he said.

She gave him a brief pouting look, then a quick hug. “Go, then, deal with your precious business,” she said. “I know that the Emperor cannot be refused!” She muttered something under her breath as she whisked off to their bedchamber. Pilate thought it sounded like “Tiberius
interruptus
!” He chuckled as he stepped into his study.

A stern man a bit older than Pilate in a Praetorian's uniform was waiting for him, and saluted him as he entered. “Greetings, Proconsul!” he said. “I bear express greetings from Emperor Tiberius Caesar, who requests that you join him for supper at his home on the Palatine.”

“Tiberius is in Rome?” Pilate said. “I had not heard. Of course I am at his disposal for the evening. Tell him I shall be on my way momentarily.”

“I brought a spare horse,” said the soldier. “I am instructed to wait for you and escort you to his presence.”

Pilate nodded. “I see,” he said. “And who might you be?”

The Praetorian bowed. “I am Quintus Sutorius Macro, Tribune of the Praetorian Guard, second in command to Legate Lucius Sejanus,” he said with a clear sense of his own importance.

“Very well, Macro, have a cup of wine while I get dressed,” he said. “We shall ride for the Palatine momentarily.”

“I thank you, sir, and I apologize for the intrusion,” Macro replied.

Pilate donned his formal dinner toga and a mantle to keep it clean as they rode through the streets of Rome. By now the crowd was clearing, and they went clopping on toward the Palatine at a good clip.

“So can you tell me what the Emperor wants with me on my first night back in Rome?” he asked Macro.

The tribune looked at him and replied, “He did not say specifically, but between you and me, it probably involves a rather sensitive errand. I have often heard him lament your absence over the last three years. He seems to think you quite dependable.”

Pilate nodded. “I thought Sejanus more dependable for the Emperor's purposes than I would be,” he said.

“He usually is,” said Macro. “But—well, I should say no more. Sejanus is my superior officer and my friend. I will say this much—the Emperor needs all the dependable clients he can get! Rome is not only a sewer; it is a dangerous sewer these days.”

Pilate mulled that over as they dismounted outside the Emperor's rarely used house in Rome. He wondered if Tiberius' mother, the aging but redoubtable Livia Drusilla, would be present. She was ancient by Roman reckoning, eighty-two years of age, and still full of spite and mischief. Tiberius had never gotten along with her, and she was one of the main reasons that he avoided Rome for months at a time. Pilate had seen her on occasion and had one brief conversation with her in his whole life; frankly, he understood Tiberius' ambivalence about her. In a world ruled by men, she was a truly formidable woman.

The Emperor's household steward escorted him to the dining room, where Tiberius stood talking to Sejanus. Pilate had a moment to study the ruler of the world before he was noticed, and took full advantage of it. He was shocked and somewhat saddened by what he saw. Tiberius had aged, and not well. He had always been rail-thin and sour of expression, but his close-cropped hair had now whitened and thinned. His once sharply erect posture was stooped slightly, and his hands were beginning to show the tell-tale signs of arthritis. Pilate remembered the brave, experienced general he had served under twenty years before, and felt suddenly, unhappily old. But then, he wondered, how must Tiberius feel?

As if hearing his thoughts, the Emperor turned and faced him. “Lucius Pontius Pilate!” he said. “It is good to see you again!” He smiled, and for a moment Pilate caught a glimpse of the man he might have been, had not the weight of family and Empire crushed his spirit.

He bowed deeply. “Caesar,” he said. “It is good to see you too, sir.”

Tiberius scowled. “Pilate, we have known each other far too long to stand on formalities! You may always simply call me Tiberius when we are alone. So how was your time in Spain?”

Pilate began to explain his duties as governor and the state of the province, but the old Emperor scoffed aloud. “I can read official reports any time I like!” he snapped. “Tell me about your campaign against the pirates! How many of them were there? Did they put up much resistance?”

Pilate smiled. “There were about six hundred of them, plus four hundred of their women and children,” he said. “They had found a sheltered cove with a steep canyon, far from any town, and made it their headquarters. One of my patrols happened to see their ship emerging from the mouth of the harbor, or we might never have found them—the place was very hard to spot from sea or land, unless you were looking for it. The legionary in charge of the patrol rode straight for Gades and reported to me what they had seen, and I assembled a single legion and made a beeline for the site. I ordered two triremes to follow us up the coast, and they blocked the exit of the cove even as we descended upon the pirate village. When they realized there was no escape, they put up a terrific resistance! They knew the fate that awaited them, and were determined to go down fighting. My boys were starving for a good scrap, and made short work of them. I fought and disarmed the pirate king myself, and then we nailed him and all the surviving men up right there on the beach, and burned their ships. The women and children went to the slave markets, and all the loot that could be identified was returned to its proper owners, while the rest was kept on deposit to be returned to the Treasury here in Rome.”

“Splendid!” said Tiberius, rubbing his gnarled hands together. “So what sort of fellow was the pirate king?”

“A big man,” said Pilate, remembering the deadliest opponent he had ever crossed swords with. “He was armed with a Syrian-style scimitar and a dagger, and wielded them both at once. He called himself Brandir, I think. Something like that, a barbarian name if you ever heard one. He already had killed two of my legionaries when I singled him out, and I told the boys he was mine. I almost regretted that decision—he was half a head taller than me and very strong!”

“You could have gotten yourself killed,” said Tiberius. “That was a foolish risk.”

Pilate shrugged. “My blood was up, and I wanted to take him down myself,” he said. “I'll admit, it took every bit of skill and training I had, but fortunately I had been practicing with the men for a year, waiting for the day we would find the pirates' stronghold!”

“How did you prevail?” said Tiberius.

“I pretended I was wearing out,” said Pilate. “I began to swing with half strength, and panting heavily, and letting myself look a little bit afraid. He got overconfident and extended himself too far, and I got inside his swing and hamstrung him. He dropped his dagger to grab at his calf, and I brought my blade down on his wrist, hard—nearly severed his hand, but he dropped his blade and the men jumped him. You should have heard him cursing me as they nailed him up!”

Tiberius cackled. “I always said you had more guts than anyone I ever soldiered with,” he said. “Those kinds of battles are easy, Pilate—you know who your enemy is, and you know he wants to destroy you! All you have to do is kill him first. The battles I am fighting now—pah!” He spat upon the marble floor. “They surround me day and night, some of them leeches and some of them serpents. I don't know who wants to poison me and who wants to simply drain off little bits of me until there is nothing left. And my family is the worst of the bunch!”

“Families are a blessing and a curse, Tiberius,” he said.

“Mine has been a curse throughout,” said the Emperor. “My mother wants to rule Rome, my daughters-in-law want their children to rule Rome, and Sejanus wants to rule me! It is enough to drive a man to distraction—or, in my case, to drink. I don't even distract easily anymore!”

Tiberius walked over to the couch and reclined in front of the table. He held out his hand, and a slave quickly poured him some wine. “Leave the flagon on the table,” said the Emperor, “and dismiss yourself—and the others—for the evening. I would have a private time with my old friend Pilate.” He gestured, and Pilate joined him on the couch, pouring himself a cup of wine and then watering it. He had no desire to get drunk this evening.

“How can I ease your burdens, old friend?” Pilate asked.

Tiberius let out a long sigh. “Would that one of my sons had lived longer than me!” he said. “Germanicus and I quarreled, but he had the makings of a true Emperor. Drusus—well, I was not blind to his faults, but he was not a bad person. He was my heir by birthright, and with Germanicus gone, it eased my heart to think my own natural son, born of the only woman I ever loved, might succeed me as Emperor. But now he is gone too. His widow is sleeping with Sejanus—they think I do not know, but I do! They want to set up Drusus' boys as my heirs, and control the Empire through them. I do not even think they are Drusus' children, if you want to know the truth! I will see myself neck deep in Tartarus before I let either of them wear the purple when I am gone!” He emptied his wine cup, and Pilate refilled it for him. “That brings me to Agrippina,” said Tiberius. “She hates me, and is raising her boys to hate me as well—all except little Gaius, who adores me. He is a piece of work, that child. Mean as a snake at times, but as charming as a courtier at others. He has the makings of a true Caesar!”

Pilate remembered the pint-sized centurion striding up and down the Imperial box, shouting encouragement to the gladiators, and his enthusiasm for seeing the losing contestant put to death. “Do you really think so?” he asked Tiberius.

The old man cackled again. “You don't miss a trick, do you?” he said. “The boy has a mean streak, no doubt. But you have to be a monster to run this monstrosity called Rome! He will be the leader the people deserve someday, I think.”

“Does anyone know that he is your choice?” said Pilate.

“Not yet,” said the Emperor. “That is where you come in.”

Now for it, thought Pilate. “What would you have me do?” he asked.

“Agrippina will not speak with me anymore,” said Tiberius. “She thinks I want to have her killed.”

“Do you?” asked Pilate.

“You'd do it for me if I asked, wouldn't you?” said the Emperor. “But no, I have no desire to be rid of her—not yet. However, I do want to adopt young Gaius. Since she refuses invitation to my home these days, I am going to ask you, as my personal representative—and someone whose loyalty I completely trust—to broach the subject with her and get her reaction. You will report back to me every word, every expression, and her posture—anything that will reveal how she feels about such a move.”