The Redemption of Pontius Pilate (25 page)

Pilate frowned. “What if there are Zealot scouts trailing us?” he asked.

Longinus shrugged. “I've had flankers going before and behind to watch for any curious eyes on our march and we haven't seen any in several days. The Zealots know this is too big a patrol to ambush, so they have melted into the countryside. But I imagine they will know when two men come into Nazareth with heavily laden mules and spending large amounts of coin!”

Longinus shed his centurion's armor, helmet, and plume and pulled a homespun robe and mantle from his saddlebags. He also produced an odd necklace with a small wooden box on it and tied it around his neck. It looked somewhat like the
bulla
amulet young Romans wore around their necks before they reached the age of manhood, but it was different in shape and more solid than the leather or fine linen favored by the Romans.

“Whatever is that thing?” Pilate asked.

“It is my copy of the
shema
,” said Longinus. “Something Jews and God-fearers wear to remind them of their faith.”

“What is in it?” said Pilate.

“A small piece of papyrus with a sacred verse from the Book of Moses written upon it,” said Longinus. “
Shema Y'srael! Adonai elohainu Adonai echod!
”

“What does that mean in our language?” asked Pilate.

“Hear, O Israel! The Lord Our God, the Lord is One!” said Longinus.

“I suppose he is,” said Pilate. “Be careful, and return quickly!”

Longinus rode off like the wind, looking for all the world like one of the natives of this strange and arid land. Pilate ordered the men to pitch tents next to a small spring one of them had found and make ready to camp for the night. He then pulled the men around him in a tight circle and explained why they were halting for the night and what he planned to do.

“After Longinus and his escort head into Nazareth, it will be VERY important for no one to know that the rest of us are near,” he said. “So we will camp away from the road, and there will be no fires tonight. If any locals stumble upon us, we will detain them until Longinus and his crew leave town tomorrow morning. We are throwing them out there as a big, juicy bit of bait—but it is important that we be in position to spring the trap when the moment comes.”

“No worries, Governor,” said one of the legionaries. “There is not a one of us that hasn't lost a friend to those damned Zealots. It will be nice to deal out a little payback to them!”

“Aye,” said another. “And we have no wish to see Centurion Longinus come to harm. He's a bit funny with the Jewish religion stuff, but he is as fine an officer as I have ever served under. I'd hate to see someone else replace him!”

Pilate looked at the men with some affection. Longinus had chosen well—these fellows were all veterans, and eager to get at their enemy. He had them set up tents and shelters on the slope of the hill above the spring—there was no need to build a more formidable camp if they were trying to be undetected. One of the men found a small cave on the far slope of the hill; it would be a sheltered spot where about a dozen or more could sleep at a time. The rations were on the dreary side—salt fish and dried figs—but the countryside around the little spring was quite lovely, so Pilate posted guards and then found a rock to sit upon. He unrolled a blank piece of papyrus and began thinking about what he would write to Sullemia this week. He was anxious to know how things were going in Rome, and for any news he could get about Gaius Caligula. Would it be too much to hope for the little maggot to die of his injuries?

A few hours later, just after sunset, Longinus came riding back into camp. His disguise had worked, apparently, or else no Zealots had been patrolling the road. He brought along several sets of clothes, including tunics and mantles for his “mercenary” escort. He chose several men to play the role, and instructed each of them to put on the loose-fitting garments over their breastplates.

“Zealots frequently take out armed guards with arrows before attacking a caravan,” he said. “Barring a lucky hit to the head, these should protect your vitals. Just fall down if you feel an arrow hit your torso, and be ready to spring up and surprise them when they charge at us!”

“What about you, Centurion?” asked the youngest legionary, Marcus Quirinius.

“They won't waste an arrow on an old merchant who is unarmed,” said Longinus. “And by the time they close on us, I will no longer be unarmed!”

“This is going to be dangerous work, men,” said Pilate. “Play your roles well! Don't walk or act like soldiers. Be unprofessional and slipshod. Let the enemy think they have nothing to fear from you until it is too late—then send them to Hades! Now off to Nazareth with you!”

He watched as the “merchant caravan” left their hidden camp by the spring and headed down the road. Light in the sky was failing, and it would be just a few hours before midnight when they checked in to Nazareth's lone tavern. He ordered the men to turn in early, except for the night watches, and left instructions to be woken two hours before dawn. The ground was hard and the night cool, but the exertion of the day had tired him out, and his eyes closed almost right away.

He knew it was early when he was woken up—far earlier than the time he had asked. The moon had only advanced a few degrees in the sky—it was maybe an hour since he had fallen asleep.

“What is it?” he asked the sentry who had called him out of his slumber.

“A young Jew has wandered into our camp,” he said. “We took him into custody, but did not harm him.”

Pilate rubbed his eyes and gave a sigh of exasperation. “Very well,” he said. “Let me see what he has to say for himself.”

The moon's light was more than bright enough for him to make out the boy's features. He was barely old enough to sport a rather scraggy beard—no more than twenty, thought Pilate. He was trying to look indignant, but the fear in his eyes belied the defiance he was trying to project. He spoke as soon as Pilate drew near.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, speaking passable Greek. “Why have I been arrested? I am no criminal!”

Pilate arched an eyebrow. “You are not under arrest,” he answered in the same language.
Koine
Greek was the universal trade language of the Mediterranean—not as lovely and poetic as the Attican Greek of Homer, but a simple language, easy to learn and understand. “But you will be if you lie to me. Who are you, and what are you doing out this late in such a remote area?”

“I am James, the son of Joseph,” he said. “I live in Nazareth, where I run a carpentry shop with my brothers. I am looking for my older brother. He wanders off periodically, claiming he needs time to pray. Hmmph!” he snorted. He did not seem to care much for his brother, thought Pilate. “He is usually back earlier than this, and my mother is worried sick about him, so she sent me out to search. He likes to frequent this spring, so it was the first place I checked. Instead of Yeshua, I found your soldiers. What brings a band of Romans this far from Caesarea?”

“Keeping the peace,” said Pilate. “A mission which your presence here makes more difficult. I cannot let you tell anyone where we are until we leave in the morning.”

“Prefect, just let me kill him,” said one of the men. “You can't trust any of these Jews!”

Pilate shook his head. “No,” he said. “We are here to protect these people, legionary, and show them that Rome's governance is for their good. If I thought he was one of our Zealot friends, we would not be wasting time bandying words with him. We shall detain him overnight here in our camp, and in the morning, we will take him with us until we are in sight of our merchant friends. Then we shall send him straight back to Nazareth—and if he tries to warn anyone, then he will join his Zealot companions on the cross!”

The young Jew shuddered at the mention of the cross. Pilate recalled Longinus telling him that crucifixion was particularly loathsome to the Jews, who believed being hung on a tree was to be cursed. But James squared his shoulders and addressed Pilate directly.

“If you are laying a trap for the Zealots, sir, then I will not breathe a word to anyone. Those cursed vagabonds have brought a thousand woes upon the poor people of our land!” he said.

“So your loyalties lie with Rome?” asked Pilate.

“My loyalties are to my God and to my family,” said James. “But I am intelligent enough to know that it will take an act of God, not a mob of thieves, to remove Rome from these parts! The Zealots say they want to restore the throne of David—pah!” He spat on the ground in contempt. “They don't even know who the heirs of David are! There has not been a king of David's line in this land for six hundred years, but if the Kingdom were to be restored, my brothers and I would be the strongest claimants to the throne! My father, who has now gone to the grave, was a direct descendant of the royal line, father to son, all the way back to King Jeconiah! And my mother, Mary—why she also traces her lineage all the way back to King David himself! And you know what all that royal blood has got us?” He seemed even angrier than he had been when Pilate first confronted him. “A house where five brothers sleep in one bed and my mother and sisters in the other! A carpenter shop that barely earns enough to feed us and keep a roof over our heads! That's what being the heirs of the true king of the Jews has done for my family. Romans, Ptolemies, Herods—I do not care who rules Judea between now and the time Messiah comes. All I want is to go back to my bed and my shop and my trade, and hope that one day I earn enough money to build a house of my own and marry my sweetheart.”

Pilate listened in some amusement. This young Jew certainly seemed to have a grievance with the world, he thought.

“Well, James son of Joseph,” he said, “until your God decides to throw us back into Our Sea, this province belongs to Rome. And as your new governor, it is my job to keep the peace and put down rebellion. You seem harmless enough, but I will hold you till tomorrow. My men and I will be riding out before dawn to hopefully catch some Zealots in the act of attempted murder and brigandry. Who knows? If I take a few of them alive, I might even have to do a little business with you. Good wood is scarce in this country, and I may well need to make a few crosses.”

The young Jew paled. “Please, sir,” he said. “I have no sympathy for the Zealots, but they are sons of Abraham still. Do not hang them from a tree! Cut their heads off or burn them alive if you have to—but hanging them on a cross will curse their souls forever!”

Pilate allowed the beast that lived inside him to show its fangs for a moment. “They should have thought of that before they began murdering Romans!” he snapped. “Now good night, James son of Joseph!” He stalked back to his tent and went to sleep almost instantly, wrapped in his cloak and using his bedroll for a pillow.

It seemed like only an hour, but the moon was low in the sky when the sentry shook him again. All over the darkened camp, soldiers were rolling up their bedrolls, donning their cloaks, and checking their gear. The young Jew, his hands tied before him, stood and stretched next to the sentry who had guarded him all night. Pilate got an idea.

“You probably know the country around here better than any Roman,” he said. “I need to be watching the road that runs westward from Nazareth toward Mount Carmel by sunrise, and I need to watch it undetected. Is there a suitable location?”

James looked troubled. He obviously had no love for the Zealots or the Romans, but the talk of crucifixion still seemed to bother him. However, he had seen enough of Pilate the night before to know that the governor was no man to be trifled with. Finally he spoke up. “There is a ridge just outside of town,” he said. “There are some sheepfolds and shepherd's huts on top of it, but the shepherds have all moved westward for the summer, grazing their flocks on the slopes of the mountain. From those huts you can see the road trailing off westward for at least five miles or so. The ridge runs parallel to the road for twice that distance at least, so you can shadow your caravan for a long ways toward Mt. Carmel.”

“I wonder if the Zealots use those shepherd's huts to monitor the road?” Pilate wondered out loud.

“I doubt it,” said James. “The huts are too close to town, and young folks like to sneak up there sometimes.”

“Are you sure the ‘young folks' you mention aren't spying for the Zealots themselves?” asked Pilate.

The young Jew blushed furiously. “I am pretty sure they are not the least bit concerned with what happens on the road while they are there,” he finally stammered. Pilate threw back his head and laughed.

“Well, James son of Joseph,” he finally said, “you are the first one of your people that I can honestly say I have liked! Conduct us to these huts quickly and quietly, and once our caravan passes, I will allow you to return to Nazareth unharmed. I will wager your brother has already beaten you home!”

James' eyes narrowed. “He probably has,” he grumbled. “And Mother will be so glad to see him back safe she won't even notice I've been gone all night!”

The squad of soldiers followed the young Jew and the Prefect cross country, staying in the wooded creek bottom for a couple of miles. Soon they could see a small cluster of stone houses and shops on the right, and a long grassy ridge on the left. There was a large sheepfold, nearly a hundred feet in diameter, surrounded by a low stone wall, and several ancient stone huts next to it. Pilate and his men jogged up the ridge as the light began to grow on the horizon, and before the sun's first rays split the sky, they were hidden from view. As James had promised, the huts afforded a splendid view of the road stretching off toward the west. The rising sun's rays illuminated the slopes of Mount Carmel, some twenty miles distant. The road from Nazareth ran almost straight toward the mountain, and then jogged north toward the bustling seaport of Ptolemais as it reached the foothills of Mount Carmel.