  Longinus and the orderly carrying his luggage had almost reached the foot of the Antonia stairway when a soldier came hurrying down the steps behind them. The Procurator Pontius Pilate, the soldier announced, wished to speak immediately with the centurion. “Take the bags to the pack train,” Longinus instructed his man, “and tell Centurion Cornelius I’ll be there as quickly as the Procurator dismisses me.” Then he went at once to the Procurator’s chamber. Pontius Pilate was standing before the window, staring in the direction of the forlorn and frightful Hill of the Skull. When he heard the centurion, he turned quickly and advanced toward the center of the chamber. “Have a seat, Centurion,” he said, as he pointed to a chair across the desk from his own. “I’ll detain you only a moment.” His round face lighted with an unctuous smile as he sat down heavily. “You’ll soon be leaving Jerusalem, no doubt?” “Yes, Excellency. I was on my way, in fact, when your aide overtook me.” “It occurred to me, though I haven’t seen her since we three were here two days ago, that Lady Claudia might like to ride with you as far as Caesarea. She is weary of Jerusalem, I know, but I’ll not be able to leave here for several days. And at Caesarea you two could enjoy one another’s company until your ship sails for Rome.” “But I’m not going to Caesarea, Excellency. I’m going to accompany Centurion Cornelius down into Galilee, and from there I’ll cross to PtolemaÏs and get a vessel for Rome.” “Oh. Well, then, yes.” Pilate’s honeyed smile vanished, and he licked his lips. “I thought you two would welcome an opportunity....” But he did not pursue the thought further. He leaned forward, elbows on desk. “Centurion, this ‘matter of utmost concern’ that takes you to Rome, I wonder if....” “You read the Prefect’s message,” Longinus said, when the Procurator paused. “And of course, Excellency, I’ve had no further communication from him.” “The Prefect must be calling you to Rome to discuss the situation out here, Longinus. It would hardly be anything in Rome that he’s concerned about, because you wouldn’t be familiar with affairs there. I’ve been trying to think what it could be that commands his attention here.” Pilate’s expression was grim now, his shallow suavity gone. “It must be that he’s dissatisfied with my governing, or even”—he swallowed, and his face was somber—“that he’s planning to remove me as Procurator and extend Herod’s domain to include Judaea, with that incompetent weasel as king over the entire realm his father ruled.” He paused, his expression questioning. “Herodias’ scheming, I’ll wager.” “I can’t say, Excellency”—Longinus shook his head—“what the Prefect may be planning for any of us.” “Us? By all the gods, Longinus, I hadn’t thought that his plans might concern you, too!” His expression suddenly brightened. “Why, that’s it, great Jupiter, that would solve the dilemma!” “But, Excellency, I don’t....” “I beg you then, Centurion, in your report to the Prefect to deal charitably....” “But, what....?” “Petition him to transfer me, with comparable position and emoluments, to some other post, Gaul, Spain, Alexandria maybe, even Rome, and name you Procurator of Judaea, Longinus.” The unctuous smile, patently contrived, momentarily relieved his grimness. “And then, though the Prefect and the Emperor might not permit Lady Claudia to go with me to a new post, particularly if it should be at Rome or near the capital, I’m sure they would permit her to divorce me and marry you.” “But the day the Galilean died”—the discipline of long training kept Longinus’ tone level, even though his fist ached to be smashed against the stupidly grinning round face—“you appeared to be most anxious to retain your post here.” The mere mention of the Galilean made violence unnecessary; the Procurator’s mask of laughter was instantly ripped away, and the terror beneath it now lay exposed. “Yes, Centurion,” he began, “but since then I ... I....” He threw out both hands as if in desperation. “I’ve had no peace! It’s these insufferable Jews, Centurion. And the arrogant, demanding, conniving High Priest, may the great Pluto grill him to cinders! I must get away from these Jews before they drive me mad, Longinus.” He stood up and glanced toward the window, then shuddered and quickly turned away. “That Galilean, the one you crucified....” “The one you condemned to the cross, Excellency.” “Yes, the one I condemned.” Pilate seemed suddenly very weary. “I thought I’d purchase immunity by involving you. But I was thinking of the High Priest on the one hand and the Prefect on the other. I never thought of him. And now, now I can’t get away from him. I can’t sleep, Centurion. He’s always there between me and sleep, his calm face confronting me, his dark eyes studying me. It’s as though he were trying me! I ... I can’t get away from him, Longinus. He’ll haunt me as long as I remain in this abominable province.” He leaned on the desk with fists clenched. “Nor will they let him lie in his tomb and be forgotten. Have you heard the foolish rumor”—his eyes narrowed as he hesitated, and then he leaned nearer the centurion—“that the Galilean has walked from his tomb and is on his way to Galilee?” “Yes, Excellency, Cornelius told me the man had disappeared under the noses of his guardsmen.” “So he told me. But of course the guards were asleep. And since Cornelius reported the man’s disappearance, I’ve been told some of the guards were bribed by Caiaphas—Pluto take him—to say that they permitted certain of his followers to steal the body to make it appear that he had come to life, as they claimed he would.” He shook his forefinger to emphasize his venom. “That arrogant Jew never relents in his efforts to embarrass me and undermine my administration of Judaea’s government.” “But, Excellency, the body wasn’t stolen. Cornelius assured me they were all wide-awake. And there was that heavy stone sealing the mouth....” “By great Jupiter, Longinus”—Pilate sank to his chair, and his eyes were incredulous—“surely you don’t believe he had supernatural power to restore himself to life and roll back the stone?” He sat back; his eyes were fixed unseeing, it seemed, on the wall beyond and above the centurion’s head. “He said that his kingdom was not of this world. He said that were he to command it, a host of his followers”—he paused, and his eyes, intent and fearful, sought the centurion’s—“unearthly followers, Longinus, spirits, demons....” Quickly he leaned forward. “Could he have been in a trance after all? Could you have failed to take his life?” “He was dead, Procurator; I assure you he was dead when we put him in the tomb.” Longinus leaned nearer his questioner. “But we didn’t take his life. When he was ready to die, he surrendered it.” “Centurion, do you realize what you’re saying?” A sickly smile played at the corners of his mouth, and his usually florid face was the shade of ashes. He braced his hands, palms down, on the desk’s gleaming surface. “By great Jupiter, Longinus, do you believe the Galilean really did return to life, that he’s alive now?” “Excellency”—Longinus looked the Procurator straight in the eyes—“what other explanation could I offer?” Pilate opened his mouth, but no answer came. Instead, with the tip of his thick tongue he circled his dry lips, and a heavy sigh stirred his ponderous frame. “I should have had the courage to resist Longinus nodded and quietly left the chamber. As the door closed gently behind him, Pilate sat motionless, frozen in his chair. But some moments later, hearing the commotion in the courtyard below, he went to the window and watched the century, with Cornelius and Longinus leading the column and the pack animals at the rear, until it disappeared around the bend of the narrow street. Then as he raised his eyes from the cobblestones to the huddled houses beyond the Damascus Gate, a sudden sharp glint of sunshine was reflected to them from a white-painted titulus board nailed to a heavy timber thrusting upward from a forlorn scarred mound on the other side of the city wall. “No! No!” Pilate whirled about hands before his eyes as though the flash of sunlight had blinded him. “Flavius! Flavius!” The startled attendant rushed in. “Yes, Excellency?” he asked. “Go find the commander of Antonia and tell him I want every cross upright out there on the Hill of the Skull pulled down, and by great Jupiter, I want it done now!” Breathing heavily, Pilate sat again at his desk. “Wait. Before you go, draw those draperies. As he did so he saw that the sun shining through the vase shot straight outward from the delicate glass a band of red light that crossed the floor, climbed the back of Pilate’s chair, and went obliquely over his shoulder to split evenly the polished surface of the desk. Flavius turned back to the first window and pulled the curtains together, so that not even a sliver of sunshine came through. Then he came around in front of the Procurator. But Pilate said nothing, and Flavius withdrew quietly, closing the door behind him. The Procurator leaned back in his chair; his arms were folded across his middle, and his eyes appeared fixed upon a spot above the door. But Pilate was not seeing the ornate panels; his eyes were being held instead in the calm and untroubled gaze of another pair of eyes.... Suddenly he shook his head, vigorously, as though to rid himself of this haunting vision. “What’s this?” he said aloud. “The man’s dead. Of course the guards dozed. Gods-come-to-earth, spirits, demons. Woman dreaming. Jewish fanaticism. Bah! Cornelius and Longinus wished to confuse and frighten me.” ... Even if he did walk from the tomb, he can cross no seas to haunt me with pitying sad eyes. In Gaul or Germania, anywhere but in this despicable land, I’ll be free of him. I’ll have escaped him. By great Jupiter, I, afraid of a Galilean carpenter. Imagine, I, a Roman soldier, I, by the gods, Procurator of Judaea.... “I’ll have an end to this foolishness, this child’s business,” he said loudly. He sat up straight. “The other day I washed my hands of that man’s death. Today, this moment, I wash them of him, his circlet of thorns, his slashed back, his searching eyes, his blood, by the gods of Rome. I’m free of him, do you hear?” ... And I’m not afraid to look through that window at his hill of death.... “Flavius!” he shouted. “Come draw aside the draperies. I want to see outside.” He lifted his hands to the desk and, leaning forward, began to rise. ... By great Jupiter, I’ll go look out the window now. I’ve purged myself of the Galilean; I’ve washed my hands of that man.... He glanced downward. Flavius, entering the chamber in response to Pilate’s summons, halted abruptly. Procurator Pontius Pilate, ruler of Judaea, his eyes wide with terror, stood rigid in his tracks, staring at his hands. From wrists to fingertips, in the fiery beam from the window, they flamed a gory crimson. Ever since the publication of his best-selling novels, Bold Galilean and The Tree of Judas, the name of LeGette Blythe has been synonymous with the finest in historical fiction. Hear Me, Pilate! demonstrates once again his amazing ability to recreate scenes from the past with drama and authenticity. Mr. Blythe is a graduate of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, is married, and has three children. |
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