Fifth Gospel(46)

Born the son of a woman from Gaul and Ponti, a Samnite general in the service of Rome, he was inducted into the Roman Cavalry as a youth and had performed military duties in Gaul and other places by the time he had reached maturity. His services had been rewarded in the giving of three gifts: a spear, the name Pilatus, and a province to govern.

He had thought it a grand thing then, to move so easily from soldier to statesman, from Pontius to Pilate. Now in his middle years, his mind turned differently. These days he found himself not thinking on a senator-ship in Rome but rather on a quiet house in the hills of Gaul surrounded by vineyards and pastures, where his time would be divided between horses, children and the pleasures of his books.

But destiny had not marked such a path before him. His only son was a sickly child and he could see himself lodged in this godforsaken land for all time, forgotten by Rome and hated by the Jews.

His wife curved towards him in her sleep. She smelt of roses. He knew she used the unguent to dampen the stench of blood, which ever since her childhood had made her faint to see it. This made his thoughts take a turn to what was troubling him.

Some days ago, a Jew by the name of Judas had come to him with word of a conspiracy. The man had told him of plans hatched by the treacherous Sicarri with the support of Herod Antipas; plans for an insurrection that would plunge the province of Judea into an abyss of revolution not seen since the times of Quirenius.

Pilate had not known whether to believe the Jew, for the man had a fiery eye and the heart of a traitor. Moreover, Judas’ seeming betrayal of his own countrymen had the scent of a trap and he had almost clapped the man in irons before another thought had come to him to override his misgivings. He had only one legion at his disposal in Jerusalem, a little over five thousand men, and Syria was stretched thin from Roman wars and would not provide him with further soldiery. Tens of thousands came each year to the city for the festival and a Roman Legion would be no more than a shout in a tempest of revolt. He had no choice but to take the man at his word and to set about his own plans.

He had decided that his men would not search the underground tunnels and passages. These were many and various and well known to the insurrectionists who may have prepared a trap for his Legionnaires. Moreover, it was not his wish to scare the plotters off and to drive them further into the bowls of the city, but rather to ensnare them. So, on the day of the proposed revolt, he left the exits out of these tunnels free and had a portion of his legionnaires lying in wait, ready to prevent the Sicarri, once they were exposed, from retreating into their hiding holes. A further portion of his men were dressed as pilgrims and set to mingle among the crowds, while another portion, led by Gaius Cassius, would strengthen the guards along the walls and all the entrances to the Temple. His own personal guard would lie in wait at his praetorium to seize those seeking to assassinate him.

On the day of the Passover Feast, the appointed day of the revolt, he and his men were among those crowds that made their way to the Temple to purchase the Passover lambs. When dissenting voices were heard in the streets he gave the signal to his legionnaires who acted immediately, throwing off their cloaks and descending like a storm of well-honed swords upon the rebels. The wild-eyed Roman guards thrust their weapons into the bellies and limbs of those perpetrators who fought back with vehemence. But they also killed and maimed those who came between them so that in the end the streets were littered with carcasses. The blood of old men, women and children, of youths and men in their prime, all who were caught in the fighting, mingled with the blood of the Sicarri zealots, and ran together in a stream over the stones, making puddles like spring rain.

Pilate ordered the blood of those killed collected in a clay vessel and took himself through the mourning crowds to the Temple. Flanked by the insignia of Rome, he climbed the steps to the inner sanctuary where only priests were deigned passage, and in a show of Roman defiance pushed aside the old priests who were horrified at his desecration. The people who were then gathered in the court began a lamentation. The paschal festival was despoiled! The presence of a gentile in the courts and the smell and sight of death had defiled the celebration of the sacrifices!

He ignored the cacophony of howling and weeping and stood looking down upon the throngs with no pity in his heart. He ordered the priests to bring forth the sacred scrolls kept in the sanctuary so that he could throw them into the sacrificial fires. Horrified the priests fell on their knees and began to tear at their vestments and to offer up their necks to his guards.

‘I will kill you all!’ he warned them, ‘Before your own people!’