The Wolf and the Lamb (24 page)

YOM RISHON

Chapter XLVII

They made a strange procession. For the occasion, the Rabban wore his robes of office, Loukas a toga of homespun, and definitely not Israelite. Yakob wore the plain tunic one associated with an off duty legionnaire, and his somewhat worse for wear broadsword sheathed at his side. The three were flanked by a quartet of legionnaires, preceded by Rufus, and trailed by a crowd of noisy Israelites. The presence of the soldiers inspired Yakob to march a little straighter, a little taller, shoulders back, eyes forward. Marius had been left behind. He would be called to testify, but only if and when the Rabban had extracted a promise from the Prefect that he would be granted immunity from prosecution if he did so. Gamaliel did not tell him that Pilate’s promises were as substantial as smoke. He hoped to keep Marius out of the equation altogether, but he could not predict the behavior of the other Roman officials.

They paused at the foot of the steps that led to the platform where only two and a half days earlier Barabbas and the Galilean rabbi had met their respective fates, Barabbas freedom, Yeshua death. As they ascended, they heard and then saw a commotion of some sort had erupted at the top. Gamaliel recognized Caiaphas in an animated conversation with Pilate. Pilate’s face had turned bright red, a shade Gamaliel knew from experience could well have a tragic end for the source of his anger. Caiaphas flapped his arms and stamped about in a mad choreography unaware that he danced on the rim of a volcano.

“It was your guards,” Caiaphas screamed.

“You think my guards care a fig about your rabbi. Your people must have slipped them a bribe. Then they stole the body away. My guards are gone—in the wind, High Priest, but if I find them, it will go hard on them.”

“What is the problem, Prefect, High Priest?”

“Yeshua.”

“The High Priest’s rabbi.”

They answered together and then glared, first at each other and then at Gamaliel.

Gamaliel raised both hands as if to ward off an impending deluge of words. “The rabbi is dead. Surely he can bother you no more, High Priest.”

“The tomb that Josef provided was empty this morning. Now his followers claim he rolled the stone back and is alive. Some hysterical woman or women are rushing around claiming they saw him and he is alive, that he did not die.”

Yakob cut in. “With respect, your Excellencies, they do not claim he did not die. They claim he did die but then rose from the dead.”

“Really? And you know this how?”

“My wife, Excellency.” Yakob caught Gamaliel’s eye and shrugged. “She is close to some of Yeshua’s people.”

“I see.” Pilate said. He seemed oddly delighted at the news. “Well then, perhaps what they said about him was true after all. He was a demigod. Demigods sometimes do that you know, return from Pluto’s realm. There is Osiris and Orpheus and—”

Caiaphas seemed on the verge of apoplexy. “Yeshua is not one of your ridiculous pagan deities. He claimed to be the son of the Lord,” he yelled.

“Yes, well, your Lord, my Jupiter, his Zeus, Hades, Pluto, what is the difference, and more to the point, who cares? Rabban, calm this man down before he explodes.”

“High Priest, I am sure there is a rational explanation for all of this. In any case you will not have it resolved here by abusing the Prefect, or until after we have a chance to interview some witnesses. It is not all that unusual, you know. There are instances in the Book and the culture of this sort of thing happening. Loukas, here, as you know, is a Physician. He can give you many examples of this phenomenon.”

“Actually, Rabban, I cannot. But, as the Prefect has noted, I have heard of this sort of thing in other religious disciplines.”

“There, you see, Caiaphas. Now you should retire to the Temple and see to the backlog of sacrifices the Passover has engendered.”

Caiaphas’ jowls shook in frustration. Then, the color drained from his face as the realization dawned that he might have over-stepped and he should probably quit the Prefect’s presence before he uttered one word too many. He stormed down the steps and across the mount to the Temple.

“So, Rabban, you are here at last. Rufus has informed you of my imminent departure unless you can answer some questions on my behalf?” He turned and stared at Yakob. “And who is this man who presumes to address the Prefect about the status of a dead rabbi without being asked?”

“This is Yakob, formerly in the service of the Empire and ah, um…Loukas’ bodyguard.”

“The Physician needs a bodyguard?”

“These are trying times, Excellency, and to answer your question about Rufus, he has so informed me and I can.”

“Good. I will send for the Tribune and Cassia and an amanuensis. I want this proceeding in writing.”

“Was the rabbi really not in his tomb this morning?”

“That is the report.”

“Interesting. It seems we have not heard the last of him after all.”

***

Pilate ushered them into a room set to one side of the public platform and signaled to Rufus to fetch Tribune Grex and Cassia Drusus. Pilate had anticipated the meeting. Whether he had that much confidence in Gamaliel, or a backup plan should the Rabban fail, may never be known. At any rate, the room had had its furniture arranged in the fashion of a court. Two heavy chairs had been pulled up behind a table. Here the two dignitaries were seated. Opposite them Pilate had placed a third chair in which he was now seated. Gamaliel and the other two men were left to stand to one side.

“You may proceed, Rabban,” Pilate said.

“One moment.” Cassia stared at Pilate. “Are we to understand that you have trusted your case to this Jew?”

“Yes.”

“I see. And you, what is your name, Jew?”

“I am Gamaliel, son of Simeon, grandson of Hillel the Elder, and Rabban of the Sanhedrin. With me is Loukas the Physician, and his manservant Yakob ben Nathaniel, formerly a legionnaire who loyally served the Empire for two decades. I have been given the unenviable task of establishing the innocence or guilt of your Prefect.” Pilate nearly catapulted out of his chair when Gamaliel mentioned guilt
.
“After many days of arduous investigation, I have finally unraveled the tangled threads that led to the murder of Aurelius Decimus.”

“And why, Rabban Gamaliel, son of Simeon ben Hillel, should we believe anything you say to us? You have no standing. You are not a citizen of the Empire and therefore cannot plead anyone’s case.”

“Yet, you will hear me out for two very important reasons.”

“And they are?”

“Citizen or not, I am the chief officer of the Law in this land. I adjudicate its interpretation every day. It is our Law, to be sure, but in this land it is
the
Law. Your Emperor has so decreed, and so it must be.”

“I must think about that. And the second reason?”

“You will know I speak the truth because I have absolutely nothing whatsoever to gain from an exercise which may exonerate the Prefect. In fact, I may lose my position and reputation if I do so. You must understand, then, that I have more to gain by finding Pontius Pilate guilty than innocent.”

Pilate squirmed in his chair and shot Gamaliel an injured look.

“Very well, Rabban. We will accept your credentials for the moment. You may proceed. You do understand we require that you follow the rules of our trial system?”

“I would if I could, your Excellencies, but as I have only a glancing acquaintance with them, I cannot promise to do as you wish. I will proceed with as much order as this tangled case allows. Perhaps I should summarize and then go into specifics.”

“Please do and quickly.”

“Very briefly, then, I will show that the plan to commit the murder originated here in this city at least two and more likely three weeks ago. In any event, well before the Prefect left Caesarea Maritima. It directly involved three men and a boy. The men were intimately involved with inner workings of the Fortress. Due to Aurelius’ overarching ambition, he found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time and became an incidental victim of a more ambitious plot.”

“What do you mean, ‘incidental’ victim?”

“Aurelius Decimus was not the intended target”.

“What? You are not making any sense Rabban. He had a dagger stuck in his ribs. Pilate’s dagger to be precise. How can you say he wasn’t—”

“The Prefect’s dagger is the most interesting piece to this puzzle. When we met on the first day and I heard that it was his dagger that had been used to murder Aurelius, I felt certain of your Prefect’s innocence.”

Chapter XLVIII

Gamaliel suppressed a smile as his words registered on the Roman’s faces. In his mind, precious little difference existed between disputing a man’s innocence or guilt and disputing the interpretation of an obscure Talmudic passage. He took a breath and stepped into the center of the room to address the two Romans. The difference in their status and his, the threat they posed to him personally if he offended or failed, mattered little to him now. He was in his element.

Cassia scowled. “How can the fact that Aurelius Decimus met his end with the Prefect’s knife possibly indicate Pilate’s innocence? I would think the reverse would be the case.”

“I had a long conversation with an erstwhile assassin and also an armorer. They both assured me that if they wished to dispatch your friend the last weapon they would select would be a dress dagger, the Prefect’s or any other. Those daggers have, as a rule, no edge and dullish tips. At the very least, using one would make murder difficult. All my experiences with the accused have convinced me that whatever else may be said of him, he is not stupid. If he wished to kill his rival, he would have used a more efficient blade. More importantly, what sort of fool uses his own dagger to kill a rival? Would either of you? No, if you had murder in your heart and had thought about it, you would use an anonymous dagger, one that could not be traced back to you. Aurelius had the Prefect’s blade stuck in his ribs,
ergo
someone else killed him in what may be thought a pathetic attempt to implicate your Prefect.”

The Tribune snorted. “That is your entire case? Pilate you have not done yourself any favors calling on this man to be your advocate.”

“Excuse me, Tribune,” Gamaliel said, “but that is not the case. That is the presumption I needed to make before I took the case. If I had believed at any time that Pilate was guilty of the crime, I would not be standing here. I do not consider myself a stupid man either, and as I said, defending the man most hated by the residents of Jerusalem benefits me not at all. If he were guilty I would have said so at the outset. Now may I continue?”

The Tribune shrugged but the smirk that had signaled his doubts about Gamaliel lingered.

“This murder was planned weeks ago and begins with the Sicarii. You are familiar with those men, I believe.”

“Fleas to be squashed.”

“Possibly, but more importantly for Rome and us, they are a common enemy. They, like the bandit released several days ago, prey on both camps equally. The Sicarii believe that terrorizing the population by killing the people they label as collaborators, will make your rule more difficult and perhaps even provoke a rebellion.”

“That is nonsense.”

“Of course it is. No one but a fool would attempt to stand against Rome. Not, at least, without a substantial army at its back. It will never happen here. We may be unhappy with your rule, but we are not foolish. We will wait. Zealots, on the other hand, whether in Britannia, Germania, Gaul, or Israel are not so rational. For them, passion displaces common sense. So, moving on, a small group of these men, situated in this very Fortress, hatched a plan to assassinate a certain Roman official. To do it and also to make a statement about their brilliance, the decision was made to use the Prefect’s dagger as the lethal weapon, fully aware that it could make the task more difficult.”

“Ridiculous.”

“Perhaps, but hear me out. How would they get their hands on such a closely guarded item?” Gamaliel paused and stared at Pilate for a moment. “Your Prefect knows how they did it but has yet to complete the thought. Prefect?”

Pilate drummed his fingers on the chair arm. His scowl, which had creased his forehead since the subject of the dagger came up, became darker. Then, it disappeared.

“The woman,” he said to the two officials at the table. “Procula, my good wife reported a strange woman in our company. That woman has never been seen again. She must have taken it.”

“You want us to believe a strange woman slips into your company and you do not notice?”

“And never seen again, but familiar somehow, wouldn’t you say, Prefect?” Gamaliel said. “Bear with me for a little longer, your Excellencies. When Pontius Pilate comes to Jerusalem he brings with him a few of his household from Caesarea. Once here they are joined by the servant staff in residence and supplemented with temporary employees taken on for the occasion. It would be easy to insert a stranger into the mix. All you would need is a willing supervisor. Remember, I said at the beginning that the planners were located in the Fortress.”

“Very well. What next? The woman steals the dagger. What has any of this to do with premeditation? All of it could have been worked out in an hour and done specifically to throw suspicion off Pilate. You said yourself he was not stupid.”

“But now you concede that there can be some doubt about his involvement?”

“Not enough to release him.”

“No? Then we continue. I have, in my custody, the person responsible for lifting the knife. If necessary, he will testify to that.”

“He? You said woman took the knife.”

“Yes, I did. May I have something to drink? Talking makes me parched.”

Gamaliel was brought a drink. He sipped. The officials hearing Pilate’s case stirred in their chairs. When he had stretched the time out as much as he dared, he placed the cup on the table and continued.

“I did say he, I did say a woman, and I did imply premeditated. Some weeks ago an iterant troupe of actors, the
dramatis personae,
you would say, arrived in Jerusalem hoping to offer plays at our amphitheater. They were rebuffed. Their number included several men and three boys. If you are familiar with the theater, you know that the boys wear the colors of youths and because their voices have not yet changed, often assume the roles of women. One of these boys, Marius, the tallest, was coerced to pose as a woman, steal the dagger, and then stay on playing the role of a slave assigned to the Prefect.”

Pilate stood. “What are you saying? That boy was not a part of my household?”

“You recall, Prefect, that your wife reported a strange woman and then on second thought decided that the face was a familiar one after all. Familiar because she ran across the boy almost daily in your company.”

“You have the boy?” the Tribune asked.

“He is in my custody, yes.”

“He must be brought to us. If he is party to murder, he must be punished.”

“Yes, I supposed you would say that. However, there is a jurisdictional problem here. He is also guilty of a serious transgression of one of our Laws
.
First, he must be tried in our court, you see? I doubt there will be time to turn him over to you before your departure. I will offer him to the Prefect later.”

“Rabban, we do not need all these tiresome details. Just tell us who murdered Aurelius if not Pilate.”

“Very well, the sequence of events is as follows, the boy is suborned and steals the dagger. It is passed to an assassin, one of the Sicarii, I believe, who lies in wait in the darkened hallway. Another of their number, this time posing as a legionnaire, delivers a message, purportedly from Priscus the Centurion to Pilate requesting they meet. The Prefect, suspecting nothing amiss, goes, but he is late. When he arrives he finds Aurelius dead and you arrive shortly thereafter. I must ask Cassia Drusus a question at this point. What prompted you to go to that corridor when you did?”

“Me? I received a message from the Tribune that I should.”

“I sent you no message.”

“It was delivered by a legionnaire from the local barracks, was it not?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact it was.”

“That is the final piece. The legionnaire who delivered both messages might have been a legionnaire at one time. I am told that a few Jewish legionnaires come here after fulfilling their service time or have defected. I am also told that some of them are less than happy with their former masters and are easily recruited to the Zealots and Sicarii. At any rate, Priscus denies he ever sent a message, and it is now evident he told the truth.”

“But Aurelius, what possible reason had they to murder him?”

“Well, he was a highly placed Roman. Ordinarily that would be reason enough, but as I indicated, he wasn’t the intended victim.”

“Wasn’t? Who then?”

“Pilate was the target. The Sicarii have been, until recently, considered no more than an annoyance. Their activities have been directed to low level and easily approached targets, but to murder the Prefect? Well, that would change everything, you see?”

“We will have to take your word for that. Go on.”

“They send one of their own, disguised as a legionnaire. They know he will not be discovered because it is common knowledge that the Prefect cannot tell one legionnaire from another. Pilate receives the message. And later you receive a similar message. You were supposed to discover Pilate’s body lying on the floor with his dagger in his heart, a touch of intended irony. But Pilate is late and doesn’t get his own dagger stuck in his ribs, Aurelius does.”

“But what was Aurelius doing there?”

“Ah! Before he was the assassin’s victim, Aurelius was the victim of unbridled ambition. I am sure he overheard the message given to Pilate by the false legionnaire. The meeting had been labeled important and he thought he might hear something which could improve his chances to supplant the Prefect. Thus, he goes to the corridor and into the shadows to eavesdrop on the Centurion and Pilate. Our murderer lurks, in the same shadows waiting for the Prefect. But instead, Aurelius arrives first and slips into the dark to spy on his rival. The murderer sees only a Roman of obvious stature with his back to him. Who else could it be but the Prefect? He stabs him and leaves, his mission accomplished. Imagine the plotters’ annoyance when they discover that they have killed the wrong man. Then, they are rewarded when it appears you have decided to arrest Pilate. He may not be dead, but disgraced and gone will do.”

“That is an amazing story. You can verify the details?”

“All of them.”

“The role this supposed bodyguard you brought with you is…?”

“He will indicate which of the names written on this wax tablet you will want to question.”

“Wax tablet with names. How did you come by…never mind, I have heard enough. Pontius Pilate, you will want to resume your duties and bring these people to account. I expect you will find a few more candidates for your Skull Hill. We are done here.”