“Centurion Longinus, how well do you know Pontius Pilate?”

The Prefect Sejanus sensed that the soldier was hardly prepared for the blunt question. He had only a moment ago entered the ornate chamber. But Sejanus added nothing to qualify the question. Instead, he seemed to enjoy Longinus’ momentary uneasiness. His small eyes reflected the light from the lamps flanking the heavy oak desk behind which he sat, while he waited for the centurion to answer.

“Sir,” Longinus at last began, “during our campaign in Germania he commanded the cohort of which my century was a unit, but I cannot say that I know him well.”

“Then you and Pontius Pilate”—the Prefect paused and smiled blandly—“could hardly be described as devoted friends or intimates?”

“That is true, sir, and I am not sure that Pilate....” He hesitated.

“Please speak frankly, Centurion.” The Prefect’s smile was disarmingly reassuring. “You were about to say, were you not, that you are not sure that Pilate has many intimate friends?”

“I was going to say, sir, that in my opinion Pilate is not the type of soldier who has many intimate friends. I may be doing him an injustice, but I have never considered him a particularly ... ah ... sociable fellow. I have the feeling that he is a very ambitious man, determined to advance his career....”

“And his private fortune?”

Longinus thought carefully before answering. “So far as that is concerned, sir, I really cannot say. I have no information whatever on which to base an opinion. Nor did I intend to indicate in any way that I thought Pilate was seeking advancement in the army in an improper manner.”

Sejanus sat back in his chair. His falcon-like eyes darted back and forth as they measured and appraised the young man. “Centurion,” he said, leaning forward and smiling ingratiatingly, “you are cautious, and you evidence a sense of loyalty to your superiors. Both qualities I admire, particularly in the soldier. This makes me all the more confident that you will be able to carry out the assignment I propose to give you.” He stared unblinkingly into the centurion’s eyes. “Longinus, no doubt you have been wondering why I sent for you, why I insisted you come at this late hour, and why we are closeted here alone.”

“Yes, sir, I have been wondering.”

“It is irregular, of course, even though it is with the son of Senator Marcus Tullius Piso that the Prefect is closeted.” The wry smile was gone now; the Prefect’s countenance was serious. “Longinus, you must be aware of the regard your father and I have for each other. You must know that we also understand each other, that we are colleagues in various enterprises widely scattered about the Empire.”

“I know, sir, that my father has a high regard for the Prefect, and I have known in a vague way of your association in certain business enterprises.”

“Yes, and they have been profitable to both of us, Longinus. Have you ever wondered, for instance, how it happens that whenever your father’s plants in Phoenicia begin to run low on slaves, a government ship always arrives with fresh ones?”

Longinus nodded. “Whenever such a vessel arrived, I always thought I knew why. But I never asked questions or ventured comments, sir. I just put the new slaves to work.”

“Excellent. You are discreet, indeed. There is nothing more valuable to me than an intelligent man who can keep his eyes open and his mouth closed.” Sejanus arose, came around the desk to sit in a chair at arm’s length from the centurion. “Longinus, the assignment I propose to give you is of immense importance. And it is highly confidential in nature.” His expression and voice were grave. “To accomplish it successfully, the man I choose will have to be always on the alert; he will have to have imagination and initiative; he will need to exercise great caution; and above all, he will have to be someone completely loyal to the Prefect.” For a long moment his quickly darting eyes appraised the soldier. “I know that you are intelligent, Longinus, and I am satisfied that you possess these other qualities.” He leaned forward and tapped the centurion on the knee. “I had a purpose in asking you if you knew Pontius Pilate well. Tomorrow Pilate is to see me. If everything goes as I expect, then we shall start for Capri to see the Emperor, and the Emperor will approve officially what I shall have done already.” He paused and smiled cynically. “You understand, of course?”

Longinus smiled. “I believe, sir, that you speak for the Emperor in such matters, do you not?”

“In all matters, Longinus. The Emperor no longer concerns himself with the affairs of the Empire.” His piggish eyes brightened. “He’s too busy with his astrologers and his philosophers and his”—he smiled with contempt—“his friends.” But suddenly the contemptuous smile was gone, and Sejanus sat back in his chair. “Longinus, Pontius Pilate is anxious to succeed Valerius Gratus as Procurator of Judaea.”

The centurion sensed that the Prefect was waiting for his reaction. But he said nothing. Sejanus leaned forward again. “I am speaking in complete frankness, Longinus. We must understand each other; you must likewise speak frankly to me. But what we say must go no further. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now to get back to Pilate. He’s a man well suited to my purpose, I’m confident.” Once more the Prefect hesitated, as if seeking a way to proceed. “Some years ago, before you went out to Phoenicia, the Emperor’s nephew, General Germanicus, was fatally poisoned at Alexandria. It was rumored at the time that the Emperor had ordered it. Pilate, who served in Gaul under Germanicus, came stoutly to the Emperor’s defense with the story that the poisoning had been done by supporters of the Emperor but without his knowledge, because they had learned that the nephew was plotting the uncle’s downfall. Perhaps you heard something about this?”

“I believe I did hear something to that effect, sir. But that was about seven years ago, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, no doubt. Time passes so fast for me, Centurion. But let’s get back to Pontius Pilate. He’s ambitious, as you suggested, and as I said, he wants to be appointed Procurator in Judaea. So he should be amenable to ... ah, suggestions, eh, Centurion? And he should therefore be a perfect counterpart in Judaea to the Tetrarch Antipas in Galilee.” Sejanus suddenly was staring intently at the sober-faced young soldier. “How well, Longinus, do you know Herod Antipas?”

“I hardly know him at all, sir. I’ve seen him a few times; I used to go into Galilee and other parts of Palestine for our glassware plants; I tried once, I remember, to sell him glassware for the new palace he was building on the Sea of Galilee. But those were business trips, you see, and I rarely saw him even then. I was usually directed to speak with the Tetrarchess or Herod’s steward.”

“But you were a guest at the banquet he gave this evening, weren’t you?”

“I was, sir.” Longinus wondered, almost admiringly, how the Prefect managed to keep so well-informed of even the most private goings-on in Rome.

“It was a sumptuous feast, no doubt?”

“It was quite lavish, sir.”

“Hmmm. I must remember that.” The Prefect puckered his lips, and his forehead wrinkled into a frown. Leaning across the desk, he drew his lips tightly against his teeth. “Soon, Longinus, you will be having two to watch.” His eyes narrowed to a squint. “Three, in fact.”

“To watch, sir?”

“Yes, that is the assignment I have for you, Longinus. I am sending you out to Palestine, to be my eyes and ears in the land of those pestiferous Jews. At intervals you will report”—he held up his hand, palm out—“but only to me, understand. You will travel about the various areas—Caesarea, Jerusalem, Tiberias, to your father’s plants in Phoenicia, perhaps other places—ostensibly on routine tasks for the army. The details will be worked out later.” He leveled a forefinger at the centurion. “It will be your task, among the various duties you will have, Centurion, to report to me any suspicions that may be aroused in your mind concerning the flow of revenues into the Imperial treasury in accordance with the terms that I shall make with Pontius Pilate, and likewise with the revised schedules I shall”—he paused an instant, and his smile was sardonic—“suggest to the Tetrarch Antipas before he returns to Galilee.” He sat back, and his sharp small eyes studied Longinus.

“Then, sir, as I understand it, you are suspicious that both Pilate and Antipas may withhold for themselves money that should be going to Rome?”

“Let’s put it this way, Longinus.” The Prefect leaned toward the centurion and tapped the desk with the ends of his fingers. “I don’t trust them. I know the Tetrarch has been dipping his fat hand into the treasury, though not too heavily thus far, let us say. That white marble palace at the seaside, for example, and the gorgeous furnishings, including Phoenician glassware, eh?” He shot a quizzical straight glance into the centurion’s eyes, but quickly a smile tempered it. “We don’t object to his buying glass, do we, as long as it comes from your father’s plants?”

But just as quickly the Prefect was serious again. He sat back against the leather and put his hands together, fingertips to fingertips. “Herod Antipas wants to be a Herod the Great,” he declared. “But he hasn’t the character his father had. By character, Centurion, I mean courage, stamina, strength, and ability, yes. Old Herod was a villain, mean, blackhearted, cold-blooded, murderous. But he was an able man, strong, a great administrator, a brave and brilliant soldier, every inch a ruler. Beside him, his son is a weakling. Herodias, on the other hand, is more like her grandfather than Antipas is like his father. She’s ambitious, vain, demanding. She is continually pushing Antipas. She seeks advancement, more power, more of the trappings of royalty.” He lifted a forefinger and shook it before the centurion. “Herodias will likely bring ruin upon both of them.” Then he paused, thoughtful. “But so much for Antipas. Watch him, Longinus. If he”—his expression warmed with a disarming smile—“buys too much of that Phoenician glass, then let me know.”

“I will, sir.” Longinus was smiling, too. Then he was serious. “But, sir, you were speaking also of Pontius Pilate....”

“Yes. I think Pilate is the man I want for Judaea. But I don’t trust him either. I want him watched closely, Longinus. I suspect that his fingers will be itching, likewise, to dip too deeply into the till.”

“But, sir, if you can’t trust him....”

“Why then am I sending him out there?” The Prefect laughed cynically. Then he sobered. “It’s a proper question, my boy. We must be frank, as I said. I’ve told you that I believe Pilate will be amenable to suggestions. Like Antipas, he, too, is a weakling. He has a good record as a soldier, but always as a subordinate. I question whether he has the courage, the stamina, to lead and rule. He will be looking to Rome, I believe, for direction. And he will always be fearful of displeasing the Prefect. But at the same time, Longinus, I think he will be looking for ways of adding to his personal wealth. So he will bleed those Jews to get all Rome requires and some for his own pocket as well.” He paused, thoughtful for a moment. “Yes, I believe Pontius Pilate is the man I want. Certainly I shall give him a chance to prove himself.” Quickly he raised an emphatic finger. “But I want you to watch him, Longinus. I want you to ascertain whether any diversions are being made in the flow of the tax revenues to the Imperial treasury, and if so, to report it to me. Even if you have no proof, but only strong suspicions to go on, by all means report them too. I’ll work out a plan whereby you can make the reports confidentially and quickly.”

The Prefect paused, leaned back in his chair, and calmly studied the younger man. When Longinus ventured no comment, Sejanus continued with his instructions. “You will be transferred from your present cohort to the Second Italian. Your rank will remain the same; as a centurion you will be more useful to me, since you will be less observed and therefore less suspected in this lower grade. But you will be properly compensated, Longinus, with the extent of the compensation being governed in great part, let us say”—he puckered his lips again—“upon the degree of functioning of your eyes and ears.”

Sejanus arose, and Longinus stood with him. “You have made no comment, Centurion Longinus.”

“Sir, I am at the Prefect’s command. But may I ask when I am to be given further instructions and when I shall be sailing for Palestine?”

“Soon, Centurion, as quickly as I can arrange it. I would like you to go out ahead of Pilate and be there when he arrives at Caesarea. It will be important to observe how he takes over the duties of the post from the outset. I shall summon you when I am ready and give you full instructions.”

The audience with the Prefect was at an end. At the door, as he was about to step into the corridor, Longinus paused. “Sir, a moment ago you said there would be three for me to watch. You spoke of Pilate and Herod Antipas. Who is the third?”

Sejanus smiled blandly and rubbed his hands together. “The third, ah, yes.” His black small eyes danced. “And there will be others also. But you need not concern yourself with any of this detail at the moment. When I have completed my plans, as I’ve said, I shall summon you here and instruct you fully.”