Pilate's Dilemma

CHAPTER Three
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With just him inside, Gaius called over, "Master, this is good fortune for us—your nephew has arrived. He, with a friend, has come just as you have said all along he would!"

Sextus was struck by this paternal sound of the aide's voice which, noticeably, was not one of a servant before a master; it rather reminded Ennius Sextus of that tutor who speaks to a dull, but nonetheless loved, pupil.

"Your nephew Sextus..." Gaius waited until Pilate seemed to give full attention, "is accompanied here by Dion Eros." In a motion that was akin to a reflex, Gaius at his mentioning Eros' name touched the fresh puncture point. Unfortunately even that slight contact with it made a trickle begin again. Yet the offender—Eros—already had set this particular incident aside. He readied himself to meet another historic personage, namely, the Governor and Procurator for the important and fascinating provence of Syria, and that included the Jerusalem who was this current subject of investigation.

Pontius Pilate, deep in thought, emerged from it to acknowledge their presence. He saw the two new faces, one obviously his nephew Sextus and the other, an olive-skinned Greek who maintained a fierce smile.

Yes. They are here!" Gaius reiterated. "You no longer have reason for your worry."

This room was stiflingly warm and, in and of itself, not "inviting", yet Gaius the aide kept the voice lilting and cheerful as he ushered Sextus and Eros on through the doorway that they should next be introduced.

"Allow me, my lords, the pleasure of presenting you to his most-excellent Pontius Pilate, former Governor and Pilate over Judea." Gaius had no need to describe for them the many duties Pilate had in managing that provence. It was without relevance, he thought, to give account of Pilate's "before-Jerusalem" accomplishments; for, Sextus was aware of these already and Gaius, well, he felt no need to entertain or inform.

Sextus noticed on Pilate's table numerous toy soldiers. He was relieved and appreciative of the fact these were arranged in precise military order. When last Pilate moved these around Sextus couldn't know; at any event, the uncle seemed fatigued. This was obviously the end of his long and silent daytime hours.

"Sextus, my boy; and Eros, true companion. You are welcome here. Gaius, move the curtains back. Why keep it so dark in here? Sextus, come here. Let me see the one I am fond of, and who has traveled here from so many miles away. You, Gaius, may leave."

To do as he was directed, Gaius was congnizant that he must distance himself from the knife wielder. Pontius Pilate did not completely rise in meeting them, but he now needed to reseat himself. Pilate remained silent as Vinius Gaius closed the door.

"I received report you were coming. I, too, have my sources." He smiled."Ennius Sextus, son of my dear sister, and Dion Eros, of whom I hear good things: I now say Sextus was right in having you come along. He knew that you, Eros, would be most welcome here." In speaking and gaining their confidence, Pilate nevertheless let attention go to those soldiers placed accurately on the table near by.

"When I last saw you, Sextus, I had not yet been appointed Procurator." Another smile formed on his lips. "As the Procurator, Rome saw fit to let me depart with much money from Israel. As the Governor, I saw fit to leave the people there... all but one. This was a feeble joke he offered, but Pilate found it difficult for him to go on further and laugh. He had calculated: "You were not still a boy, already wrestling with 20-year-olds (!) when I visited. Do you remember that occasion?"

"I do," Sextus nodded, "Yes." Besides the uncle having two attendants at the time, Sextus recalled about Pilate that he wore a magnificent scarlet cloak. But Sextus did not know which memories he should be trusting beyond this one; a person does not look with an eye towards the future when some event is happening—one looks to see all and not just to remember. Sextus might have paid a closer attention to the uncle's facial features should he know that no less than 12 years should pass before he'd see him again.

But parents had said other things about him since then. When Pilate of their Pontius relation received his high appointment from the Syrian Prelate, their position changed as well. Sextus would often hear his mother name-drop to friends, “my brother, the Governor, told me...” and “I wrote of your Empire concern to the Procurator last month...”, etc. Pilate had much increased the prestige of the family, but his parents were the ones who must keep it active and going—Pontius Pilate had been too many miles away from Rome to do that. With the seeing of Pilate again, this brought some memories of those years into letter-like carved relief.

"I would say you were close to 20, and the only time prior to this I was seeing you in Pompeii, nursing away on a wet nurse's teat." Pilate laughed at the boldness of his talk. But since there was not so much mutual experience of Sextus and Pilate, Pilate opined for him, "Your mother always was 'a fool', I'd say; this was typical that she let her only son be reared on the milk a slave gave."

No doubt he was the lone person Sextus would allow to have said this; Eros felt a sting in it too—but his discomfort was coming from an entirely different direction, that as a slave. Pilate had said of her that she was foolish. That only bothered Sextus; Eros knew from reading and talk that Pontius Pilate had never been cruel to those enslaved.

A twinkle surfaced in Pilate's eyes as he brought himself to offer Sextus a chance here to strategize. "Here. Let me see if you are but 'a fool' too," he said, beckoning Sextus. There on the table were his nicely painted soldiers—not quite "toys", as Sextus and Eros would soon see!

"You did military training within a famous legion, my son, and now you have been assigned to the intelligence branch of our civil police. Tell me, how would you dispose your forces in war scenario here? Eros, you shall have opportunity in a moment."

These soldiers were arrayed as horsemen in the two V-formations typical of Roman miliary practice. The remaining Roman infantry had been rather scattered about.

Sextus was explaining by his arranging of foot soldiers into positions of where front ranks were locked, and shields raised against arrows in the center, with short swords forward. It was the classic formation Rome prevailed with. It was muscle, metal and leather of theirs that had cowed every nation to ever dare face it.

“Yes. Correct, of course,” Pilate nodded as he examined the positions from close aspect. “The disciplined wall that breaks everything it meets.” Then he straightened so as to gain the aerial view.

"Ah, but if..." Pilate began. His voice was giving them notice he had altered the situation of the game board. "If this officer here did not give the correct orders." Pontius ceremonially removed a soldier. The piece was not chosen at random. Pilate may be an ex-Governor, but he was no "ex"-politician and strategist. "And if this man ran, another was being removed. Then the unthinkable: "If this fellow developed some sort of conscience that abhorred killing... what then?" he asked. He removed a final soldier before asking Sextus and Eros, "Will this wall hold?"

Eros shook his head; he'd not yet been fully invited to speak.

Sextus responded, "It will collapse, of course." His "of course" was confidently-enough expressed, however, he did not think this would happen and told Pilate so. "What you suggest by this demonstration will not happen. It is impossible. The Roman soldier does not break."

This was an answer that was perfectly in keeping with what Sextus had been taught and was identical to what he had taught others. Sextus, without intending it, had produced a frown that now shown on his uncle's face. For the first time Sextus had suspicion that Pilate really was a sick man. It apparently was in this disgrace and exile that his brain had been caused to run down. I have come 800 miles to talk with a man who has a derangement.

Eros popped up. "The Governor does not mean your soldiers and wall break now, he is referring to the future, when events are different." He looked at Pontius Pilate intently and asked, "Am I right, my Lord?"

Pontius Pilate closed his eyes. When they opened, he was looking at Eros.

"You are perfectly correct! And I must say that this nephew of mine shows he has good sense in asking you to come here, Dion Eros. You are a delightful fellow. I welcome your coming and stay." Pilate then threw this out for their consideration:

“Should not these variations of failure have a place in our planning strategy of the Army?” Having delivered this “salvo” as the parting shot for this table top war of stratigery, the Governor was satisfied to call a truce and offered both a drink.

“Help yourself, then, to the wine on the shelf behind you. I won’t join you in this, this time. The two soldiers welcomed the chance to move away from the fire; however, that turned out to be a wine gone stale. The goblets nearby the flagon had their gray tint from a dust that mixed routinely with what the fire produced as particles. Sextus winced hearing the next that Pontius Pilate spoke.

“Nephew, I make good now on my calling you here. I will show you the ‘bait’ to have brought you so far.” From a drawer underneath the table, Pilate removed a parchment roll and held it out for his nephew. Though the wine now be inferior, this document was of utmost importance—it was legal title, upon Pilate's passing—to all lands and possessions that this great man had enjoyed, during his long life, having. It had its seal but was minus the witness signatures. Eros would have been glad to sign... but that was not the problem, as Sextus would soon be learning.

Sextus read and felt his heart begin a beat that was much faster. Glory and behold! What the others had been saying of Pontius Pilate—that he had a vast fortune—was true. And though this man settled for a remoteness here—and seemingly tolerated having Celts and the squalor they produced—the actual holdings in various locations was vast. There had been no diminishing in these which came as a result of his moving to here. Pontius Pilate had this farmland, three Italian villas, a grain farm and granary in Egypt, plus two marble quarries in Sicily, plus a half million in a Rome vault where soldiers guarded it with their lives for a bit of its gold and silver.

All was legally certified as Pontius Pilate’s, the lands had belonged to him prior to when he began his service to Rome as the Governor of Judea; however, much addition of money in the recent years could be suspect as having come from a province not overly rich in anything. The oddity was that to be a religious Jew had an expensive side—a worshiper attended feasts regularly and made numerous sacrifices of perfect-specimen animals in the Temple, in Jerusalem. Actually, in the coffers was the loot from Pontius Pilate’s several-years-long term of office practicing bribery, extortion and sale of money-making or power-wielding positions.

Sextus had always wondered why there was vacillated in the rule of his uncle whereupon he met with final capitulation to the Jewish hierarchy at the end. It was now seen that a good half of them had evidence to break him! Their knowledge of bribes, favors and the selling of confiscated goods could not always be kept among strict participants. Up till now Sextus chiefly viewed his uncle’s rule as being characterized as vacillation mixed with his vindictiveness, but with this financial side as now seen, Pontius Pilate obviously “sold” decisions a good share of the time. Uncle Pilate—Sextus wanted to state—could in cleverness position toy soldiers; but a final statement of wealth indicated he was as deft with his political expediency for financial gain that the unknowing world mistakenly saw as mere weak vacillation.

“All, Sextus, is to become yours, my son. Every coin, grain, every piece of marble. Regardless of the hope my doctor expresses, I fear this health of mine, to the contrary, is... well, I haven’t long now.”

Eros would tacitly agree: No. Pilate was not going to walk—as Vinius Gaius had said—five miles or ride twenty.

Pilate arose and took a couple of steps. He took to bending over a portion of the flame and was rubbing his hands together as if washing them in that heat from the fire. He said, "My body is cold all the time. This thing in my head is a torture to me."

Sextus’ interest was to continue reading this document. He half-listened to Pilate, and that one had noticed.

“You are to the part where there is specific mention of the living relatives? Read then where it has said ‘To Sextus Marcellus Ennius, only son of my sister, the Lady Octavia Lepida, I bequeath my entire estate.’”

“Yes,” Sextus remarked, “I’ve seen that. But it lacks your signature.” He proceeded to close the parchment up into a roll again.

"Without that," Eros innocently explained (he was no person familiar with the documents of the wealthy), "it is as if a will does not exist. What, my Lord, must Sextus do to earn this confident signature of yours thereon?"

Sextus sighed most uncharacteristically and Eros immediately moved to the side when Pontius Pilate indicated to see the men on that board again. He picked up a soldier—specifically, a mounted one--and this he waved a little in the air while he looked at the nephew.

“Truth,” Pilate all but gasped, and they could see the vein in his forehead twisting when he spoke this. “He,”—meaning Sextus—“must find the truth for me. And that is your job, Sextus, no? This is the 'why exist?' for our Department of Vigilance. You, they, and I must find ‘truth’ where it shall lie. Tell me my 'truth' and you shall have your signature promptly affixed.”

"Now come over here," the ex-Governor seemed energetic again. He walked heavily across the room, yet his feet dragged like one who had 80 years attached to them. A man of 63 shouldn't walk so, his nephew and Army visitor both thought. On the far wall positioned between busts of Julius Caesar and the god Augustus hung a huge multi-colored map of their Roman Empire. It had parchment shields pinned to the borders so as to show specific armed forces that held them: the Rhine legions, those along the Danube, and the mass of auxiliaries in Syria. Beyond the shields the canvas lay in white, as blank.

He pointed to that contained within the borders. "That is what we have made. The Roman peace. All the civilized world lies in here." He indicated this region with his moving hand. Then at the Danube River he confirmed, “The only really stable force of law and order and discipline that mankind has ever known.”

Pontius Pilate looked for a chair but there wasn't one there. Eros felt compelled to offer his statement of view.

"But 'uncivilized' barbarians have shown they can sharpen weapons as well."

This comment did not influence the ex-Governor; his concern was for a sound defense and not enemies at peripheries.

“Doesn’t this then add bitterness to my experience of having been supreme Governor. I don’t know that he broke the law; he was a philosopher. Those that accused him didn't understand his claim, and he was of them. I’m certainly no Jew, yet I say this.”

Both the guests knew of whom Pilate spoke, yet for it all, Sextus was the one to keep their discussion encouraging.

“Look then, how long the Pax Romana has lasted!”

“Ah, my boy," Pilate wished he could say it more pointedly, "Can this last and for a surety not be broken?”

Sextus was not without confidence in The Department. “Not from outside alone.” His reply was quick and automatic, a stock answer that Pilate could expect. Sextus welled inside with iteration of significant histories of their successes: since the reign of Augustus, the boundaries were sealed; yes, Pyrrhus had broken them in the past; Hannibal and the Gauls—but this sort of challenge was from long ago! Weren’t the defenses now at the frontiers impregnable?

Actually, from inside, truth told a different story. If there was weakness behind the bastions—if the Germans had attacked while Caesar and Pompey fought each other at Phasalia, or the Gauls marched in during the slaves’ revolt under Spartacus—then there could be no guarantee of security. That was an important reason for having the Vigiles exist. This was why Dion Eros, the son of a Greek man’s plaything, could make senators cringe before him; and why he, nephew of a former provence Governor, was proud to take orders from Naevius Macro, a man he despised socially.

“No, not loss from the outside alone.” Sad to say, Pilate's nodded his head rather convulsively in the effort to say on... “But if something were to come in. A thing which seems harmless now, but is working against us all the time, like a rot in timber where hidden springs wash out the foundation so the house becomes weaker and weaker...”

Eros must have his say. It was, perhaps, the real reason for his coming. He had suspicion that Pilate and he felt the same with regard to threat to the beloved Empire.

He ventured a comment like a bridge to an answer he hoped was forthcoming from Pilate: "And you know what this 'thing' is, my Governor." Eros' face bore no smile, his face was his eyes that were keen and eager for Pilate to relent "his truth" as he knew it. Sextus watched them both: Eros was as a dog before a rat hole, expectantly waiting. The Greek must hear the words from this Governor, words that already rolled around in his mind. Eros touched Pilate with a question just as when he'd touched Vinius Gaius earlier with the knife point. He said, asking, "You are also sure that this 'thing' is here already, aren't you?"

Pilate did not answer. His silence could well send Eros, and Sextus, on a trip that might cover a thousand miles!

Eros in his own spirit felt confirmed that in time—perhaps a few weeks here, talking daily with Pilate—would give him must useful quotes, as from a knowledgeable man, that would be used in justifying Eros' recommendations and approach to others back in Rome. He had promised Sextus... he promised on the condition of his even being allowed to come... that he would notpress the uncle of Sextus for answers when they were not naturally forthcoming. Yet, was now as good a time as any to find out? Could he "press"...

Eros coaxed while not even looking at the man (he was looking down) and he said, somewhat detached, "May I ask how you know that?"

It was not long and Pilate was answering, "Because..." Pilate was gasping and Sextus was concerned. The nephew looked at his forehead—there really did seem to be a worm that wriggled beneath the skin; a vein with its own mind had moved beneath the skin.

“I know the thing is here because—may the gods yet forgive me—I have let it in.”

Pilate staggered back to his couch. Because of the enormity of his confessing he'd ‘let this thing in’, Pontius was loathe to give further voice to it.

Close, Eros thought. Though Pilate chooses to not say more, Sextus and I are not soon to be leaving.

* * *

SMALL IRONIES

However much it hurt Sextus to utter the words, he confided to Eros and Gaius later, “I suppose one could say he is mad, but what is madness? A joke of the gods, some sort of punishment from heaven? Something to stave off us mortals who’ve come knocking too incessantly at their abode? Consider that it’s physical sickness—something goes awry in the working of the body. And just as easily, a right remedy can restore it. But is madness a real worm in the brain that gnaws away reason? I can not answer that; I’m not a physician. I am but his nephew who cares more for his health than this wealth he has.”

Gaius let Sextus talk; he was there under the impression all was right with their room now. He hoped soon to be in receipt of a compliment, and a possible coin or two that would not be refused.

Eros paced back and forth with thoughts accustomed to silence. Where there earlier had been unkind words, he had let Gaius know that the room entirely pleased him now. To both the aide and 'the nephew' he'd known, Eros told, “Pontius Pilate claims this began merely because a man was sentenced to death a handful of years ago.”

Sextus related in some unusual way to Pilate’s description of his terrible dreams racking him, and the feeling that blood was sticking to his hands. Today all that time the vein had twisted and throbbed in his forehead. Tears of pain dribbled down the cheeks; and till when Sextus and Eros left him at the last, Pontius had lain back exhausted. He had asked Eros to ring the gong that summoned Gaius, and then he begged them to leave.

Sextus asked, "Why should this worry him? He must have sentenced a hundred to this same outcome during the years of his ruling Palestine."

"A hundred fifty years ago, in a slaves' revolt on my island, the Romans managed to kill 70,000 men like me, and a great many of these happened by crucifixion. Have you seen them taking place?"

"Once," Sextus replied.

"By chance, was it to a follower of the man we seek to learn about, of 'the Way'?" asked Eros

"No. It was a criminal, and no routine one--a runaway richly deserving his punishment. Killed his master—a kindly old man who treated him well—then followed this with a violation of the young daughter, and he ran, threatening, from the wife who discovered it all. The particular wood cross looked to have been used multiple times. No monument, it only put the man up a foot off the ground--that was as close to 'heaven' as he'd be again, I think. No nails; they tied him to it with cords that had first been wet and which wold then tighten with the heat of the day. He lasted two days of that, I later learned. 'Cursed in ways his master never would have allowed! Half-way through he took to giving out moans that lasted until the end. Good that he died," concluded Sextus.

Eros knew something about the suffering of a crucifixion. "At first they claim release for being wrongly convicted, then when in pain they confess all and hope for mercy. Then they beg for it. But the best they manage to get is something to dull the pain, or if myrrh is made available, it gives an onslaught of stupor. But this carpenter your uncle sentenced, in a sense, that Jew was asking for his own death; he anticipated it and pressed on with the preaching and demonstrations. And that should be the defense for Pontius’ mind, Sextus. Our deceiver asked to be crucified!” He addressed the aide, “You agree with that, Vinius Gaius?”

“In a manner of speaking: yes, my lord. My master never wanted to execute him. Why should he? The fellow had broken no law Romans have. He was a preacher wandering about, and you’d find those by the handful in the east, once you start looking. This one had, like a good Jew, come up to visit Jerusalem for the feast. His followers were there, but a hundred others joined in making it one loud acclaim for him because of a miracle he worked in raising a dead man; it’s not enough apparently to work miracles on those still alive—he had to ‘better’ his show. And this Jesus could turn stones into bread—I think that’s how it supposedly went; that sort of thing. It ended with temple authorities arresting him on the tip from a disgruntled disciple who afterwards would not agree to the charge laid out against the man of blasphemy. It really was convoluted and none of our ‘Roman business’, is how I think.”

Eros was not without his ‘investigatory’ side and asked Gaius, “Do you think them credible, these ‘miracles’ of his?”

"I, my Lord? I was 'soldier first' and one who follows Mithras, a fine Persian god and ancient keeper of light and truth. An opposer to darkness and evil." There was something pathetic in this way the huge, bloated creature pronounced his calling and faith. Never had his religion stopped him from drinking a drop, nor had it been an aid to keeping his military position. He continued, "I know but few Jewish superstitions and care nothing of their sacrifices, though my master later had inquiries made. The man turned over for execution was a 'Nazarene' and son of a Nazareth carpenter. We suspect he left home at an early age—maybe to join one of those exclusive monastic orders named Essenes and such. Have you heard of them? Then he started a cult of his own design. There's no doubt of his being deluded." Gaius was confident saying this.

Eros was taking all this in and considering Gaius' every word.,

"We gathered information: the talk about miracles—blind men healed, water turns to wine, and the last: he arose from the dead(!)—those sorts of things that go into reports. But how he could be purported to perform a miracle on himself when dead, I cannot figure that one out!"

"And evidence for that?" Eros asked.

"Not a scrap," replied Gaius who'd been comfortably satisfied years ago that all of that report of resurrection was false.

Eros saw similarity in Pilate's aide's speech with those discussions already held in the Department. Yet his hope was for additional views; that's why he was here.

“These are but stories to be related by storytellers,” Gaius was concluding, “folk tales for the simplest of people.”

Sextus added, “Those simple people lost their hero. They’re not easily going to let him go.”

Eros contended, “He claimed to be a god too, I think. Therein would lay ‘blasphemy’. Right, Gaius?”

“Well, a ‘sort’ of god, you could say. The Messiah—the anointed one—they did call him that. It’s difficult to determine what he thus was anointed for? No more than a ‘headache’ he’s been to all of us who had anything to do with that man’s past. Legends surround: he will come down one day from heaven and lead his people away to freedom, as did their Moses.”

"Legends shouldn't be so hard to kill," commented Eros.

“Followers add to something to his claims every year, it’s been reported to me. But, anointed, yes, that he claimed to be. If they keep this up, I may start to agree that a god like Jupiter and Mercury has taken human form with him.”

“No, not like Jupiter—” Eros sharply contradicted. He could have used some scenery right about now, but seeing anything at a distance was blocked by the fence. “—not at all to resemble Jupiter.” Gaius had spoken well here, being most informative. It made Eros wish he’d considered something other than a knife on him... maybe a twisting of his arm... but that would have brought on his shouting; no, the knife at the throat keeps a man quiet.

The sun inched along in its sky, casting long earthly shadows that stealthily crept across the valley like advancing ranks of an army.

And soon the world would surrender to the darkness with only token resistance to come from a burning lamp or two. Again, Eros saw as far as the fence allowed—thathe saw clearly—and fears were known to him too:

* * *