The Redemption of Pontius Pilate (39 page)

Pontius Pilate, Prefect of Judea, to Primus Pilus Centurion Gaius Cassius Longinus: Herod ordered the execution of John the Baptizer this evening, on a drunken whim, at his birthday banquet. I am wondering what the reaction of Jesus of Nazareth and his followers will be when they get the news. If it is possible, please go with a small, unobtrusive escort and observe him and his followers for the next few days. Let me know if there is any danger of violence or insurrection. Also, alert your men and all the scattered garrisons to keep a watch out for Bar Abbas and his band of thugs—this seems like the kind of thing that they would exploit in order to work more harm on our people. Be careful, and report back soon!

After dispatching the letter, he lay awake for a long time, pondering the evening's events. He wondered how the common folk would react to the murder of a man they considered to be a prophet, and whether Herod would be able to keep peace in the province after killing such a popular figure. Time would tell, he thought before finally fading off to sleep.

Pilate arrived back in Caesarea two days later, after a quick stop at Jerusalem to place the garrison there on high alert. As word of the Baptizer's death spread across the countryside, the local mood turned bitter and ugly. At least for once, he thought, the anger was not directed at Rome! Herod, it was said, had barricaded himself inside the fortress at Machaerus and was not seeing anyone except his most loyal servants. Pilate tried to imagine the life of the king, locked in a castle with Herodias and her strumpet of a daughter, and could not suppress a smile. It couldn't happen to a more splendid fellow, he thought.

A week after that, he got a letter back from Longinus. The centurion's report was much lengthier than he expected:

Gaius Cassius Longinus, Primus Pilus Centurion, to Prefect Lucius Pontius Pilate, Greetings! Forgive the length of this epistle, but I think you will find it worth the time it takes to read it. Upon receipt of your letter I took three of my trusty lads and my servant, Stychius, and we went together to see the response of Jesus of Nazareth once he learned of the death of John the Baptizer—not a difficult assignment, because this Jesus seems to have taken up temporary residence here in Capernaum. He has hundreds of followers, but there are a dozen or so that he has named his “Apostles,” and four of them live here—two sets of brothers named Simon and Andrew and James and John. He seems to enjoy speaking to the people along the shores of the Sea of Galilee, where the water can amplify his words to the point that those furthest back in the crowd can hear him plainly.

He was standing up in the bow of a fishing boat when we arrived, telling a rather complex story about a farmer and some seeds that he sowed, when word began to filter through the crowd about the Baptizer's execution. Incidentally, I heard from no fewer than three people that John the Baptist was in fact a second cousin of Jesus! Be that as it may, the word of John's death spread through the crowd like wildfire, and the mood turned ugly and resentful in a hurry. It was near the end of the day, and when Jesus finished his story, the crowd began shouting out to him about John's death, and asking what he was going to do about it. I don't think he was surprised to hear it—he certainly did not act shocked. He simply bowed his head in absolute silence for two or three minutes, then told the people that he was done teaching for the day, and lay down in the boat so that he could not be seen at all from the shore.

We waited as the crowd dispersed, hoping to speak to him when he came ashore. But as the people went home, the boat's oars deployed, and it headed to the other side of the lake. We went back to my home in Capernaum and ate a late supper, and then we slept for a few hours, making a point to be back at the lakeshore by dawn. The crowd began to gather again at first light, even bigger than the previous day. However, there was no sign of Jesus. The boat he had been in was beached on the far side of the lake, a tiny dot in the distance.

I don't know who first proposed the idea, but somehow the people got it in their head that they would walk around the northern end of the lake, ford the Jordan, and find Jesus wherever he was on the other side. Within an hour they had all set out—well over ten thousand, perhaps closer to fifteen. Men, women, little children, and oldsters, all still angry and outraged at the death of their old prophet, and longing for a guiding word from their new one.

My lads and I followed the group, trying to mix in with the crowds. Our shaven faces marked us as non-Jews, but there are many Greeks and Syrians now following Jesus also, so I don't know that anyone actually marked us as soldiers. It took several hours to cover the distance around the lake, and a bit of wandering through the hills on the far side before we finally sighted the small gaggle of men who were Jesus' closest followers—his apostles, whatever that designation means. The crowd gathered around them and began asking them where the Galilean had gone, but before they could answer, Jesus appeared at the brow of the hill and took a seat on a rock. The crowd pressed in as close as they could and everyone sank to the ground, exhausted.

I find it interesting that Jesus was now ready to teach, and they were now ready to listen. The day before they had been angry, outraged, and ready to march wherever anyone directed them. Now they were still upset by the death of the prophet, but they were not looking so much for someone to blame or punish as they were just seeking answers. By forcing them to march several hot, wearisome miles to find him, Jesus had sucked the fury right out of the crowd.

What did he say to them? Well, he started out by telling stories—a series of short tales that all had some applicable moral lesson. They say he calls them parabolas, because they lay a spiritual meaning into a story of earthly things. He spoke of landlords and tenants, of laborers and harvests, of shepherds and their sheep. Then he abandoned symbolic language and spoke straight and clear about the importance of forgiveness. He said that God cannot forgive our trespasses unless we forgive those who trespass against us. He also said that God will judge the souls of all men one day, and that the wicked will be held accountable for all the evil that they have done—but in the meantime, it is not our place to exact revenge, for that is God's prerogative. In short, Prefect, if you or I had written a message for him designed to calm the crowd and keep the peace, we could have done no better.

But this is not the end of the tale. As sunset drew near, his disciples approached him. I was too far out to hear what was said, but from their gestures and tone they appeared to be asking him to send the crowd away before dark. His reply drew several dismayed stares and negative looks, but finally one of the men—I think his name was Andrew—approached the crowd and asked if anyone had brought any food with them. Everyone looked at one another and no one said a word. Finally, one little boy, about ten years old, stepped forward with a basket. Andrew took him and his basket to Jesus, who reached into the basket and drew out some fish and bread. He hushed the crowd and raised the food up to the sky, thanking God for providing sustenance for his people, and blessing it for their consumption. Then he began to break the bread into pieces and distribute it to his disciples.

What happened next defies description, even though I have had a day or two to reflect on it now. Jesus kept reaching into that tiny basket and pulling out more bread! Each of his disciples had a larger basket, and I swear he filled each of them to the top with pieces of bread and fish! Then they began passing it through the crowd, and no matter how many people reached in to help themselves, the bread never ran out! Now I have no doubt that some people in the crowd had brought food with them, and seeing the child's willingness to share probably shamed them into sharing what they had with their neighbors—but the baskets the disciples were passing around never ran out, no matter how many people reached in and took out loaves and fish. I actually looked into the basket when it came to us, and it was nearly full! I took out three pieces of fish and a loaf, and each of my men took about the same—but it was still seemingly full when we passed it on.

Sir, I am a practical man in most ways, although I know that you scoff at my religion. But what I saw today can be termed nothing less than a miracle. Make of it what you will, and feel free to ask the men who were with me—but I know what I saw and have no other explanation for it.

We camped in the field that night and made our way back to Capernaum the next day. A terrific storm swept over the water shortly before dawn, and by the time we got back to town Jesus had already arrived with his followers. He was in the door of Simon the fisherman's house, and people were coming from far and wide to be healed by him of various sicknesses and diseases. How he does it I do not know, but I do not think it is by deception—the hardest reputation to maintain is that of a faith healer. I saw one young lad I have known personally, who has been lame in his ankles since birth, skipping down the street and yelling for joy. Whatever the source, this Galilean does seem to have some truly miraculous powers.

Well, this has rambled on for far too long. If I have bored you, I apologize, but I figured you would want to know what was going on. I am going to set my house in order here and do a sweeping patrol of the area before I return to Caesarea. Long live Rome!

Pilate set the lengthy scroll down with a thoughtful expression. Feeding the multitudes, pretending to heal the sick? What was this Jesus up to? What did he hope to gain by such activities? Could he truly have miraculous powers of some sort? Pilate was skeptical of such things, but at the same time, like all Romans, he did believe in omens and auguries and the like. Could the gods actually be trying to communicate something to mankind through a Galilean carpenter?

Not bloody likely, he thought. Even if it was the invisible God of the Jews carrying out some plan for his people, why would he choose such a humble vessel? More than likely this Jesus was building a following so that he could make some sort of political move in the near future. Or perhaps, he thought, this Jesus was simply a madman, utterly convinced that he was some sort of divine agent. But how did that explain the “miracles” Longinus described? Surely the carpenter had learned some sleight-of-hand tricks, and planted a few actors in the crowd to mimic the sick. Pilate resolved to continue following the actions of Jesus from a distance, ready to intervene if the man posed a threat to Rome.

The rest of the summer passed quickly, with Pilate and his legionaries on the lookout for Zealot activity. Bar Abbas struck twice, once ambushing a patrol of six legionaries and leaving their gutted bodies beside the road, and then murdering a Roman citizen and his family as they traveled from Joppa to Caesarea. Pilate was furious at the loss of his soldiers, but their bodies were not discovered until three days after the attack. The second set of murders, however, was discovered almost right away by a squad of cavalry, and they sent word back to Caesarea while immediately following the trail.

Pilate personally led 200 mounted auxiliaries on the chase, and caught up to the band of scouts within three days. They were following a barely discernible trail through the wilderness between Jerusalem and the ancient city of Jericho. The countryside was wild and jumbled, with fallen boulders, rocky crags, and hills everywhere. It was one of the most dangerous parts of Judea, home to bandits and highway robbers that no amount of patrols could fully suppress. Pilate and his men followed the scouts at a distance of a half mile or so, not wanting to alert the enemy prematurely or do anything that might destroy the trail of barely discernible footprints that they were picking out of the rocky soil.

After a day and a half of this, the lead scout, a wiry, jet-black Numidian named Scarsus, called Pilate to the fore. “They knows about us, sir!” he said in his thick African accent. “See here, how the tracks completely disappear? They send troops back to erase them with hyssop branches. That can only mean we getting close.”

Pilate knelt down in the clearing. Sure enough, the hoof tracks and footprints that entered the clearing disappeared without a trace in the center. Only a couple of fragments of the small leaves betrayed the use of the bushy hyssop branches used to erase the tracks. Looking closely, Pilate could see the tiny lines the leaves had left in the dust as it was swept back and forth. He eased forward, surveying the three rocky gullies that led out of the clearing into the hills.

“They take the middle one, Excellency,” said Scarsus. “I already see two hyssop leaves near where it starts. We still finds them, no worries. Just be a little slower.”

Pilate nodded slowly. He did not doubt the tracking skills of his Numidians, but if the enemy knew they were being tracked, he did not doubt that they were capable of mounting a response. Returning to the main body of his force, he called the senior officers in and spoke to them quickly and quietly, urging them to be on the lookout for an ambush at any time.

It came just after noon the next day, during the hottest weather they had encountered yet. The barely discernible trail of hyssop fragments and swept dust had led past a small, spring-fed water hole, so Pilate had ordered his men to dismount and fill their canteens while the scouts tried to see where their elusive quarry had gone from there. Suddenly the Numidian scouts came racing back, their startled cries causing the horses to rear and plunge. Pilate noted that three of them were missing, and as that realization dawned on him, he saw Scarsus fall face first into the ground, a feathered shaft protruding from between his shoulder blades.

“They are on us, boys!” he shouted. “Form turtle!”

Even though they primarily fought from horseback, Pilate had trained all his auxiliaries in basic infantry tactics, and issued each of them shields and blades as well as the lances and bows they preferred. In a trice they formed into a defensive circle, shields covering their bodies as arrows rained down into the clearing by the spring. The arrows seemed to be coming from the slope of two hills in front of them.