“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 the High Priest and release the man,” he observed, more to himself than to the centurion across the desk from him. “But I condemned him. Then I tried to cleanse these hands”—he turned them over and, palms up, studied them—“of his guiltless blood. I could have freed him.” He glanced toward the window but quickly turned back to face Longinus. “Centurion, do you suppose”—perspiration was beading on the Procurator’s plainly frightened face—“he will be coming back soon from Galilee ... to Jerusalem, the Temple, to Antonia? By great Jupiter, Longinus”—he did not pause for the centurion’s reply—“help me escape him! Urge the Prefect to transfer me, send me to some post across the world from this frightful Judaea, to Gaul, Germania, even, by the gods, to Britannia!” His eyes were wild, his hands on the desk were shaking, and he clenched them into white-knuckled fists. “Tell him to give you Claudia; she’s been yours anyway all along.” He attempted a feeble smile. “But I ... I mustn’t keep you. Centurion Cornelius will be awaiting you, Longinus. Go, and the gods give you good winds.” His voice had calmed. “And I beg you, Centurion, say a good word to the Prefect.”
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!”