Claudia, Wife of Pontius Pilate: A Novel (25 page)

As Hotep helped her prepare for bed, she couldn’t shake the sorrow that seemed to overwhelm her, and the feeling that something was coming that would change her world.

The dream came again, the intensity and vividness of it was overwhelming. There were voices shouting and the face of the Teacher covered in blood and looking at her with such compassion, she wept. It was as if he wanted her to help him and she was helpless. Angry men shook their fists at him and hurled insults. Yet the Teacher stood immobile through it all, silent as one of the stone gods in the patio. She woke up during the night drenched in perspiration.

Hotep came to her bedside. “Domina, you cried out. Are you all right?”

She rubbed her forehead with one hand. “It was only a dream, Hotep.”

“The same dream?”

“Yes, the same dream. Someone is planning to hurt Jesus, I’m sure of it. I cannot help him. In the dream my hands are frozen at my side . . .” She lay back down. “Go back to sleep, Hotep, it was only a dream.”

The maidservant left, and Claudia, in spite of the turmoil in her mind, fell into a deep sleep again.

 37 

T
he sun rose slowly, pushing the shadows back and spilling over the walls of the sleeping city as Lucius stood at the window of his quarters. Passover began today and there were always incidents. With millions of people crowding Jerusalem, he dreaded the day. He could only hope his soldiers, posted visibly throughout the city, would be a deterrent to lawbreakers.

He looked at the city without seeing it, his mind tossing with questions. He’d lain awake for a long time, thinking of the words of his wife. Who was this Jesus anyway—a rabbi who mesmerized the people with his words, who miraculously healed those who came to him with their ailments? His spies told stories of Jesus even casting out demons. He had been in Judea long enough to learn that the Jewish priests had elaborate exorcism rituals. This man merely commanded demons to leave and they left the body of the possessed. Where did he get his power?

He would have put these incidents down to sorcery or magic of some kind, but there was the witness in his own household. How could he deny the healing of his son? Born with a deformed foot and destined to be a cripple the rest of his life, Doros now walked with two normal feet. What power did this man have? How did Jesus do these things? He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration.

Cautious of any group that would threaten the peace of Judea, Lucius had poured over every report on this rabbi during the last three years. He’d looked diligently for evidence that Jesus was stirring up the people for a rebellion against Rome, but there was no sign of that. Instead there were stories from his own hardened soldiers—of thousands fed with a few fish and loaves of bread, blind men given back their sight. One man had been born blind. He had no eyes! Yet Jesus laid hands on his face and gave him new eyes. By the gods, no human being could do such things!

His reverie was interrupted by an urgent knocking on his door. It was his tribune.

The man saluted. “Excellency, there is a delegation of the Jews outside the gate of the palace. They say they cannot come in because of Passover and defilement.”

He sighed. “What do they want this time?”

“They have a prisoner, Excellency. They want you to sentence him.”

He strolled through the palace with the tribune. “That I can do.” Perhaps it would put these troublesome Jews in good humor and alleviate any trouble.

He stepped outside the palace and faced the priests. “What accusation are you bringing against the prisoner?”

The priests looked at each other. “If he were not a malefactor, we would not have delivered him up to you.”

A typical reply he’d dealt with before. “Then take and deal with him according to your law. Why bring him to me?”

“We cannot do it ourselves. We want you to decree the death penalty for him, and we are forbidden to put a man to death.”

“Let me see the prisoner.”

They brought the man forward, and as Lucius saw who their prisoner was, a jolt went through his body. It was the Teacher, Jesus. Dismayed, Lucius ignored the curses and shouts of the rabble as for the first time he looked into the face of the man who had healed his son.

The rabbi stood silently, almost serenely, and in his eyes Lucius saw
only kindness and compassion. In the midst of a storm of protest, he was an island of calm. There was a dignity about him that gave Lucius pause. He had the bearing of a king.

His mind surged again with memories of the stories he’d heard—from the centurion and others. Claudia called him the Son of God. She believed that. He must be a god to cause twisted flesh to right itself—toes to become normal. Claudia had witnessed the miracle, along with Hotep, the steward, Chuza, and his wife, Joanna. A great weight settled on his heart. He sensed something here he was totally unprepared for.

He drew himself up. “I wish a formal charge against this man.”

The priests looked at him in disbelief and then at each other. To his chagrin, Lucius realized that to keep the peace he’d usually gone along with their decisions. The rabble shouted in the background as one priest came forward.

“Excellency, it is best you accept our decision in this matter. Too many questions are not necessary.”

Lucius forced down a bolt of rage and clenched his fists. How dare they tell him what he should do? He directed his gaze at Jesus again. He had learned to read people well, and it was obvious that the man was innocent of any charges they were bringing against him. He could not take his eyes away from the face before him. His mind raced. He could not hand Jesus over to his enemies. He could not face his wife or his son.

The leading priest spoke up. “We found this man perverting the nation and forbidding to give tribute to Caesar, saying that he himself is Christ, a king.”

Lucius turned to Jesus for his reaction to their charges, but the man did not respond to any of them.

Any of the three charges alone would make the prisoner guilty of treason. Yet Lucius suspected all were without foundation. Tiberius dealt harshly with traitors, real or imagined. Many in Rome were victims of the emperor’s reprisals. Even the slightest hint of treason sent
the emperor into a frenzy of retaliation. Judea was a volatile province. Tiberius would expect him to deal quickly with such a charge.

He nodded to his tribune. “Bring the prisoner into the judgment hall. I wish to question him privately.”

The priests hung back as Jesus shuffled forward and was escorted into the Praetorium to come face-to-face with Lucius.

When they were alone, Lucius asked quietly, “Are you the King of the Jews?”

Jesus answered, “It is as you say.”

“So you are a king?”

“You say rightly that I am a king. For this cause I was born, and for this cause I have come into the world, that I should bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice.”

Lucius sighed heavily. The man talked in riddles. “And what is truth?” He looked into the face of Jesus, his voice low. “You healed my son.”

“Yes.”

“You knew whose son he was, yet you healed him.”

Jesus stood there with no shred of anger or accusation. He was under condemnation by the Sanhedrin, yet it was Lucius who felt he was the condemned man. The Teacher’s destiny was surely death if the Jews had their way, and Jesus seemed resigned to the inevitable. Lucius listened to the cries of the rabble outside the palace. “Do you not hear the things they testify against you?”

Jesus did not answer and Lucius shook his head slowly, marveling at the man’s composure under the circumstances.

He had no choice but to escort Jesus back outside.

Lucius faced the crowd. “I find no fault in this man.” He had rendered his judgment. It should have ended there. He knew he should free Jesus and dismiss the rabble, but they continued to accuse the prisoner.

The lead priest stepped forward, his face twisted with anger. The governor had not gone along with their plan. “He stirs up the people, teaching throughout all Judea, beginning from Galilee to this place.”

At the mention of Galilee, Lucius rubbed his chin. “Is this man a Galilean?”

When they nodded yes, Lucius folded his arms. “Take him to Herod. This prisoner is under his jurisdiction.”

Totally frustrated, the leaders jerked on the ropes binding Jesus and, muttering, hauled him away to Herod.

When they had gone, Lucius was handed a tablet. It was from his wife and read, “Have nothing to do with that righteous man. I have suffered much in a dream because of him.”

He turned and saw Claudia standing in the shadows, watching him. Her face was stark with fear and something else—anguish.

He went to her, seeking to find the right words to comfort her, but all he could say was, “Those fools are mad with jealousy. I can do nothing with them, they are bent on his blood.”

“Lucius, what do you mean you can do nothing? You have rendered judgment. He is innocent of their charges.”

He sighed. “Yes, I know, but I’ve sent him to Herod. Perhaps he can persuade them to release the rabbi. He told me once he admired Jesus and wanted to see him. I cannot take a chance on this crowd becoming violent.”

He led her to a private area of the patio and sat with her.

“Lucius, you know as well as I do that they have totally ignored their own laws. They took him last night in the Garden of Gethsemane where he had gone with his disciples to sleep. They didn’t give him a trial. The Sanhedrin just passed judgment. They found him guilty. No trial date was set or any of the rights of their laws followed. Joanna told me what the Jewish law says and they have ignored it. Everything about this arrest is illegal.”

He shook his head. “I don’t understand why he does not fight this. It is as if he is resigned to his fate. He doesn’t deny the charges—in fact, he says nothing in his defense.” Lucius waved a hand. “He says nothing at all.”

A servant brought them some refreshments, some cheese and diluted
wine, but neither of them were hungry. All they could do now was wait and see what Herod would do.

Claudia rose suddenly. “I cannot understand this, Lucius.” And with a sob, hurried upstairs. He started to follow her, but turned to his study instead. He could not let her emotions sway him. His role as governor was at stake here. Yet, he shivered as a sense of impending doom brushed over his soul.

Toward midday, the tribune entered Lucius’s study where he was going over some scrolls, glancing through them yet not reading them at all.

“They are back, Excellency. His Majesty, King Herod, has returned the prisoner to you.”

“And his verdict?”

“He found no cause for the charges against him.”

Lucius swore. This was getting complicated. So the old fox could not find him guilty either. Perhaps when this sorry incident was over, he should make an effort to solidify their friendship. With reluctance, he gathered himself and went out to the waiting crowd. Putting on an air of disdain, he addressed the priests.

“You have brought this man to me as one who misleads the people. And indeed, having examined him in your presence, I have found no fault in this man concerning those things of which you accuse him. Neither did Herod, for nothing deserving of death has been done by him.” Lucius now rendered the third verdict of “not guilty.”

The crowd roared like the beasts of the coliseum in Rome, as though deprived of their prey.

By the gods, they were determined to kill this man! He searched frantically for an answer and an idea came. It could relieve him of this unwanted responsibility. Barabbas. The man had killed two soldiers at the time of his capture and was guilty of other heinous deeds, leading a bunch of hardened criminals, rebels that had plagued Judea for
over a year. If Lucius had his way, the man would have been sliced in two when they found him, but his soldiers brought him in for trial. He’d been found guilty and was awaiting execution. Lucius smiled to himself. The man was like a beast, in stark contrast to Jesus.

He had his soldiers bring out Barabbas, who pulled on his chains, sneering at the soldiers and cursing. They jerked him into place near Jesus. Barabbas, his tunic dirty and torn, stood defiantly, surveying the people before him from under heavy brows.

Lucius addressed the crowd whom he suspected had been stirred up by the priests. “You have a custom that I release one prisoner to you at Passover. Which do you want me to release—this murderer who stands before you or Jesus, the Christ?” Pleased with himself and his idea, Lucius was certain the crowd would choose Jesus.