“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?”