“Indeed, O Procurator”—the High Priest’s smile was scornful, his tone sneeringly derisive—“let his blood be upon us, yea, and our children!”
“Then take him, and crucify him.” Pilate glanced toward the prisoner, standing tall and calm and regal in the blood-drenched discarded purple. But when their eyes met, Pilate’s shifted in that same instant to the mosaic at the Galilean’s feet, so that momentarily the judge’s head was bowed to the prisoner. Then, in a voice that was scarcely more than a whisper, Pilate spoke to the guard who held the fetter binding Jesus’ wrists. “Lead him into the courtyard.”
As they were going out he summoned an attendant. “Fetch a tablet that I may prepare the titulus.” His eyes fell upon the wax tablet that his wife had sent him. “Wait,” he said. “This one will suffice. There’s space enough on it for what I have in mind.” The soldier picked up the tablet with the attached stylus. “Write this,” Pilate commanded, “and when you have written it, take the tablet into the courtyard and have the words inscribed on the headboard in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew.” He paused, reflecting. “Write what I say: This is Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.”
Joseph Caiaphas had heard. “No, O Procurator! Write that he says he is King of the Jews!”
Pontius Pilate stared in stony silence at the furious High Priest. “What I have written,” he said after a moment, “I have written.” He turned to the soldier. “Go prepare the titulus board.” Then, without a glance toward the High Priest and his group, he returned to the Praetorium and mounted the tribunal. Only the few soldiers in attendance remained in the vaulted great chamber. Pilate sat down upon the curule; his eyes, unseeing, were fixed on the pattern of the mosaic at the foot of the tribunal steps.
... Great Rome’s vaunted justice. But must not justice yield sometimes to expediency, the expediency of the greater good for the greater number? Will not his death end a developing tumult in Palestine that might have brought even bloodshed and death for many Jews and perhaps even Roman soldiers? And now no report will go to Sejanus from Joseph Caiaphas.
... The Galilean. A dreamer, a devotee of the Jewish religion, a visionary ... a righteous man, Claudia said. “Take no responsibility for that righteous man’s blood.” Claudia’s dream, bah. Superstition, astrology maybe, foolishness. Calpurnia had a dream, and Caesar laughed at her warning. Caesar laughed, and Caesar died.
... But no report will go to Rome of the Procurator’s releasing a dangerous revolutionary who was planning to establish himself on the restored throne of ancient Israel. Joseph Caiaphas has been silenced....
Suddenly a cold, numbing fear clutched Pontius Pilate. “By great Jove!” But he had not exclaimed aloud. No report would go to Rome from the High Priest, no fawning spies would tell how the Procurator had freed a cunning revolutionary, but Claudia had warned him not to judge the Galilean. Could his wife, by all the gods, be a secret follower of this mystic? Didn’t many high-placed women of Rome become devotees of this strange Jewish one-god religion? Could the Emperor’s stepdaughter, by great Jove, have become, of all persons, interested in religion, in any religion? Could Claudia really feel strongly about this Nazarene fellow?
... And Longinus had fetched her message. Longinus, yes, by all the gods....