The Master's Quilt (26 page)

With a great deal of effort, he pulled
himself into a sitting position, as if he were truly a man who had
leprosy, or one who was so advanced in age he could not move easily
without help. When he realized this, he wanted to weep, but he was
beyond tears.

Instead, he sat in the darkness, trembling
and thought about the decisions he had made.

After Pilate’s conversation with Malkus,
Annas had revealed his true intentions. “You’ve wavered long
enough, Procurator,” he had said, his voice harsh and
uncompromising. “Vitellius demanded that you remedy the unstable
situation here in Judea. . .immediately. Yet you delay carrying out
your orders. Need I remind you that you neglected a dangerous and
potentially catastrophic situation once before.”

He flinched and glared at his adversary.
Annas was right, of course, but he hated the Jew all the more for
his rightness. “You’re exaggerating, Annas,” he said calmly,
keeping the gnawing frustration that had settled in his belly out
of his voice.

Annas laughed derisively. “Hardly,
Pontius.”

“Rome isn’t what she was in my father’s day,”
countered the Procurator. Augustus would never have tolerated such
insolence from a man like you.”

“Speaking of emperors,” Annas said. “I
understand that Tiberius languishes in Capri. It is rumored that
his skin has broken out in large red blotches and that his whole
body is covered with pus-filled eruptions that exude the most
unpleasant of smells and cause him a great deal of pain.”

“Your words have you on cliff’s edge,
priest.”

“I meant no disrespect, Pontius. It’s just
that I have also heard that Tiberius has planned well for his
death—”

“What are you insinuating?” interrupted
Pilate.

“I’m surprised you don’t know.”

“Know what?”

“Why, that Tiberius has chosen Gaius Caesar
to be his successor.” Annas’ smile was almost a sneer. “I believe
his fellow legionnaires refer to him as ‘little boots.’”

“Caligula!” spat Pilate, shocked by the Jew’s
revelation. “I don’t believe it!” He turned and walked over to his
desk, then sat down heavily. His head sagged forward as if it were
too heavy for him to hold up. “My spies tell me that Tiberius hates
his adopted son. In fact, if the rumors are to be believed, the
Emperor reportedly told a group of Senate representatives that
Caligula was ‘a viper being nursed in Rome’s bosom.’ Why would
Tiberius chose such a successor? He is a child, a boy whose morals
and habits are contemptible.”

“The
child
, as you refer to him, has a
claim that is as good as any previous ruler’s. He is, after all,
the great-grandson of Augustus, through Julia. And since the death
of his son, Drusus, Tiberius has been unable to produce progeny of
any gender. On the other hand, who are we to question a man who
allows himself to be worshiped as a god?” finished Annas
tauntingly.

Pilate glared at the titular head of the
Sanhedrin and changed the subject. “You are in no position to
gloat, Annas,” he said sternly. “I understand Antipas and Doras are
determined to remove your son-in-law from the position he has held
for fifteen years. I’m also informed that they are close to
succeeding.”

Annas laughed loudly, then poured himself a
goblet of wine, intentionally infuriating Pilate with his breach of
manners. “You poor, beguiled man,” he said, enjoying the moment.
“Do you not know? Doras is dead.”

“What?”

“He hung himself this afternoon. It seems he
couldn’t stand the pain of losing his daughter.” Annas stared at
the Procurator and added, “I’m told he chose the same tree that
Judas Iscariot used.”

Pilate’s face was blank. “Who?”

“The man who betrayed Jesus to us for thirty
pieces of silver.”

Pilate was suddenly beyond words.

“So, you see,” continued Annas, “it is highly
unlikely that Herod will try to continue his efforts to unseat my
son-in-law.” He walked over to the balcony and stared down at the
Temple, wondering what Pilate thought about whenever he looked at
the Royal Bridge. “As for you, Pontius. . .your problem remains
alive, walking the streets of the city.”

Pilate looked at Annas, all but defeated, and
said with his last bit of defiance, “Not exactly.”

“Oh?”

“We’ve located Deucalion . . . and the girl.
I’ve sent Malkus and a cohort of men to take care of both of
them.”

“How did you find them?” Annas asked, a look
of amazement on his bloated face.

“We discovered she was hiding with an
outcast—a woman named Abigail.”

“An outcast?”

“A leper,” Pilate said, fighting to control
the nausea germinating like a poison weed in his belly.

“I see. . .and what has become of this
leper
?” asked Annas.

“She told us what we needed to know.
Unfortunately, she didn’t survive the interrogation.”

“A pity,” sighed Annas. “Although I imagine
her death is as fortuitous for Rome as Doras’ death was for
us.”

Pilate remained silent.

“Where are Deucalion and Esther?”

“Esther?”

“Doras’ daughter. I’m surprised you didn’t
know.”

Pilate waived his hand casually and shrugged.
“Names are of no consequence to me at this point. I care only about
the swift resolution of our problem.”

“As you say, it is
our
problem. Where
are they?”

“Somewhere along the shore of the Great Salt
Sea, in a cave.”

“What do you mean
somewhere
?”

Pilate grunted. “Perhaps you should pray to
your God and ask Him. And while you’re at it, ask Him to make sure
that your sleep isn’t as troubled as mine has been these past
weeks. Perhaps, if He is merciful, He won’t probe your conscience.
. .I doubt your image could stand the strain.”

The Procrator’s thoughts returned to the
present. The night remained still. The
Arabah
had swallowed
all the wind. Pilate got out of bed and walked to the balcony. He
absentmindedly rubbed his hand across the marble balustrade ringing
the suspended veranda and it came away wet with dew. “That’s
strange,” he muttered, “it feels like oil.”

He wiped the sticky wetness on his bedclothes
and thought about his nightmare.

The reason he screamed himself awake was not
because of what he had seen in
Hades
. It was because of what
had happened after that.

Immediately after he smelled the horrible
stench, the scene had changed abruptly.

From the center of darkness in the pit beneath him,
a blinding white light had raced toward him and enveloped him. He
tried to close his eyes, but couldn’t. Standing in front of him was
the Galilean. Jesus was dressed in white and He was glowing
brightly, as if He were on fire. He had spoken thirteen words: “You
are forgiven, for in your ignorance, you know not what you
did.”

Then the brightness increased and became a consuming
fire.

All of a sudden the leper, Abigail, was standing in
front of him. . .beside Jesus. And she was also glowing. Then came
the thief who was crucified with Jesus. And finally, Deucalion and
a strange dark-haired woman appeared beside the Galilean.

That was when he awoke in terror. The light
had become so intense he thought the sun had fallen on him. His
body had been on fire.

He shuddered. Had he not screamed himself
awake, the faces would have continued to appear—faces of all the
men, women, and children he was responsible for killing. “Yes,
Gehenna
is worse than I ever imagined,” he mumbled, grateful
he couldn’t see the Royal Bridge at night.

Perhaps it’s not too late, he thought
hopefully, running his hand through the cool wetness on the marble
railing. Abruptly he turned and stumbled toward the door.
“Antonius. . .” he cried out hoarsely. “Wake up! I must get a
message to Malkus. Wake up! Do you hear me?”

F
ive miles east of
the Great Salt Sea, and the cave, Malkus woke, drained and
irritable. He sat up groggily and watched the sun rise, big and
round, over the camp he and his men had hurriedly made late last
night. Dawn was only minutes old, and the day was already hot. The
absence of any wind didn’t help the cloying weather, or his
mood.

The soldiers who were already awake were
doing their best to cleanse themselves. There had been another
heavy dew during the night, and yesterday’s dust now clung with
irritating tenacity to their damp clothing.

“What a contradiction in terms this land is,”
muttered Malkus, wondering if the people took their cue from the
weather. He marveled at Judea’s idiosyncrasies. The inhabitants
were irritable and stubborn, with little tolerance for the
uncircumcised; yet they would sacrifice their own flesh and blood
in order to keep themselves pure.

His reflections were interrupted by the
arrival of Tacitus, his second-in-command, who announced, “The men
await your orders, sir.” Malkus stood and secured his sword—once
Deucalion’s—in the scabbard tied to his waist, then looked east,
toward the sunrise, squinting his eyes against the harsh glare.
When he spoke, his voice was thick with exhaustion, and the dark
circles beneath his eyes made his face look bruised, as if he had
been in battle during the night.

“I’ll be glad when we have completed our
duty, Tacitus,” he said, his mind elsewhere. “I grow weary of
Judea. Rome beckons to me in my dreams. She calls to me
insistently, like a siren. But I’m bound to this parched and
inhospitable country by the bonds of another man’s destiny.” He
shivered despite the heat, then whispered, “We’re all doomed,
Tacitus—all of us who stood against the Nazarene.”

“Commander?”

Malkus blinked, then stared at Tacitus as if
he were only just recognizing his presence. The chill left him as
abruptly as it had come upon him. “What. . .?”

“The men are waiting. Your orders, sir.”

Malkus brushed the dirt off his sandals and
straightened his crumpled, damp robe. “Come, Tacitus,” he replied
in a somber voice, “we march to the Great Salt Sea.”

The deep purple blue of dawn was already
fading into the pastel blue of morning as the two men walked
through the camp.

• • •

Pontius Pilate paced the marble floor of
Herod the Great’s Palace. The haggard look on his face was
accentuated by the long, deep lines that looked like crow’s feet
spreading outward from the corners of his sullen brown eyes. He had
roused Antonius from sleep and had hastily prepared new orders,
rescinding his command to kill Deucalion and the girl. Instead,
Malkus was to arrest them and bring them to him for questioning.
The runner had left before just before dawn. The Procurator knew
that Malkus, though camped only a short distance from his
destination, would not begin the search for the cave until the sun
rose.
The courier must reach Malkus in time
, Pilate thought.
He must!

• • •

Herod Antipas lay passed out on the floor of
his residence. The prostitute with whom he had feverishly shared
his bed had unknowingly, and rather unceremoniously, pushed him off
his bed in her sleep. The Tetrarch had been too drunk to care. He
finished off the last of spring wine four months early, attempting
to drown his latest failure in an ocean of fermented grapes. Doras
was dead, having supposedly committed suicide. Two years of
planning and preparation had died with him.

First his demented father had failed him.
Then Augustus had denied him the full measure of his rightful
inheritance, and his brother had married the woman he desired. His
plans to control the Sanhedrin had developed nicely until Pilate
sent that accursed Jew from Bethlehem to him. Now with Doras dead,
and hope with him, he would have to content himself with his
building projects.

“Perhaps mortar and stone will prevail
against time, where flesh and blood have failed,” he muttered, just
before he passed out.

• • •

Caiaphas had risen early and walked
downstairs to the courtyard. He stood in front of the solitary
acacia and smiled. Annas had informed him late last night of the
death of Doras, and of the fate of Pilate’s Praetorian. “It seems
as though the fire Simon spoke about with such trepidation has
burned itself out, he told the tree, stroking the dark
shit’tim
wood with his right hand. “I have nothing more to
worry about. The old men who sit on the Council have short
memories—especially where their own failures are concerned. They
will support me now.” He laughed heartily, then hugged the tree as
if it were a long lost friend.

Annas, stood in the shadows of his upstairs
room and observed his son-in-law’s strange behavior for the second
time in less than a month. “He’s lost his mind,” he said under his
breath.
It was wise for me to arrange for Jonathan to become
High Priest. Perhaps it would be even wiser for me to escalate his
rise to power.

D
eucalion walked
along the beach and watched the bright yellow ball of fire rise
majestically over the shimmering green expanse of salt water
stretching before him. As the sun began to reclaim its authority
over the earth, he prayed, thanking God for the day. He was glad to
be alive and eager to get started on the journey to Capri.

Tiberius will see us, and we will make a
difference
, he thought, as he headed back towards the cave and
Esther.

Suddenly the ground beneath his feet rippled.
There was no warning, no sound, just the abrupt, startling tremor,
as if the earth had heaved a heavy sigh.

Concerned about Esther’s safety, Deucalion
began to run along the shore, heading towards the cliffs. That was
when he heard the faint shout. He stopped running. In the distance
he thought he saw a group of men, but he couldn’t be sure because
there was a haze between him and whoever had shouted.