I stood against the wall, so mesmerized with what I was hearing that I paid only limited attention to what was going on outside.
A guard, dressed like those we had seen in the dungeon the previous evening, stepped up to the doorway. He signaled to one of the junior officers, but Pilate saw him and beckoned him to come in.
The man saluted and stood at attention.
“You keep the prisoners?” asked Pilate.
“Yes, sir,” he replied. “I have one held in isolation, but I had no instructions as to whether he should be fed.”
I struggled to keep a straight face, hoping the governor would send the man away with a sharp command not to bother the officers with such petty concerns. But Pilate seemed curious as to why one prisoner had been separated from the rest. Decius was away, and none of the other Romans knew.
“Bring him here.”
The governor rose and walked around the table toward the doorway leading to the courtyard. A few minutes later, two soldiers dragged a very confused and frightened Markowitz up from the dungeon and threw him to the ground at Pilate’s feet.
The Roman stared at him, as if appraising an insect previously unknown to science.
“What is your name?” he finally asked.
Markowitz looked up, his face completely blank.
“He does not speak Aramaic or Greek,” said the guard.
“How do you communicate with him, then?”
“I’m told he has companions.”
Publius didn’t move to intervene, though I couldn’t tell whether the centurion didn’t recognize Markowitz in his current state or whether he had simply elected to remain silent.
Either way, I knew it wouldn’t be long before all eyes turned to me, so I stepped forward — better to look as if I had nothing to hide.
Markowitz recognized me first. I told him to shut up, as gently as I could and still get the point across. Then I gestured to Publius.
He understood and dispatched a soldier to fetch the others. A few minutes later, Bryson and Lavon walked in. Both of them had the good sense to bow to Pilate and remain silent.
“Which one of you speaks Greek?” he asked.
Lavon raised his hand and took a step forward.
Pilate glanced over to Markowitz. “Who is this man?”
“He got caught in the crowd yesterday, excellency,” replied Lavon. “Although he could not get out of the crush of people before your soldiers rounded everyone up, I can assure you that he is no bandit.”
That seemed plausible enough, though I could tell the governor hadn’t bought it.
Something seemed to jog his memory. Pilate went back to his desk to fetch a piece of papyrus. His attention focused on the writing at the bottom.
“This report mentions an unusual blonde-haired stranger going into the Temple. Is this man that individual?”
Lavon didn’t even bother to translate. There was no point lying. “Yes, excellency. He was insatiably curious about what lay inside.”
Pilate frowned. “How did he get in? Only Jews may enter their sanctuary, and they are extremely strict on this point. Is he a Jew?”
“We come from a far country, but one in which our babies are sometimes circumcised. He learned the Jews also undertook this practice and sought to find out why, since it is so uncommon elsewhere.”
Pilate, though, was having none of it. “You didn’t answer my question: Is he a Jew?”
“He is not one of these Jews,” said Lavon.
The governor didn’t reply, and we could both see that his doubts persisted.
The archaeologist pressed on. “Our grandfathers tell us that our ancestors migrated long ago from a hot land far to the south. An absurd legend, no doubt, but in the middle of winter in the frozen forests, such stories have an obvious appeal.”
Pilate chuckled, which was a good sign; though again, he didn’t seem entirely convinced.
“Perhaps he mistook ancient fables for the truth,” said Lavon. “He is an excitable young man, and not completely right in the head.”
“Why take him on such a long journey, then?”
“His father ordered us to. He is rich, and we serve him, in our country.”
At that point, I could see Lavon running out of maneuvering room. I stepped forward.
“This man’s father charged me with keeping him out of trouble,” I said. “If there is any fault, it is mine for not discharging my duty.”
Pilate turned to Publius and they spoke briefly, though I couldn’t understand what they were saying.
Then he turned back to Lavon. “You’re telling me for a fact that this young man was caught up in the midst of the bandits and forced to go along with them, against his will?”
“Yes, excellency. He is only a traveler from a far country.”
***
I couldn’t tell what Pilate was thinking, but there were obvious holes in our story.
“I will be frank,” he finally said. “A respected member of their high council admitted this young man to their sacred Temple, so if he is not a Jew, some important details are being omitted from your account. He was caught with the brigands and by all rights should share in their punishment.”
Once again, I’ll give Lavon credit. He kept a straight face and didn’t say a word.
Pilate continued, “On the other hand, he does not know their language, and your fellow traveler has rendered us valuable assistance.”
“Yes, excellency,” replied Lavon.
“Since I have no time to investigate the matter further, I will grant him an opportunity to redeem himself, with a simple demonstration of where his true loyalties lie.”
Before Lavon could reply, Pilate barked an order that my earpiece didn’t quite catch. The dungeon guard scurried away while the Roman officers exchanged glances of approval.
Lavon, though, had turned pale.
“What did he say?” asked Markowitz.
“He’s going to let you go,” said Lavon.
“Thank God.” He reached up as if to unshackle the iron collar around his neck.
“There is, um, a catch.” Lavon explained what he was going to have to do.
Markowitz shook his head. “That’s cold blooded murder! I won’t do it!”
Though he didn’t understand the words, Pilate could see Markowitz’s obvious reluctance. He didn’t like it.
“Is this prisoner going to turn down my generous offer?” he asked.
“With all due respect, excellency,” said Lavon, “his error was not intentional. He is merely an impulsive young man who got caught up in a situation beyond his control.”
Pilate frowned. “An impulsive young man, you say?”
The governor pointed to the flogging post at the other end of the courtyard.
“Very well; in that case, I will have him scourged. That should bring him to his senses, and teach him to surround himself with a better crowd.”
Lavon fought to suppress an upwelling of panic.
“No, excellency,” he replied, “this man will not refuse your generosity. His hesitation stems only from the fact that he has never killed before. He is no warrior.”
“All northmen are warriors,” said Pilate.
“And all have long hair, rotten teeth, and paint their faces blue,” said Lavon. “I tell you the truth. This man works as a scribe in his father’s house, to learn the merchant trade so he can carry on when the old man is no longer able to pursue it.”
“A scribe?”
“Yes, excellency.”
“Has he never hunted?”
“Of course,” Lavon lied. “But in the forest, the quarry has a sporting chance.”
That gave one of the Romans an idea. He stepped forward and whispered into Pilate’s ear.
The governor smiled. “An excellent suggestion; the men could use some entertainment. See to it at once.”
As the officer marched away, Pilate informed Lavon of his decision. The archaeologist started to remonstrate, but I tugged his arm. We had pressed our limited luck just about as far as it would reach.
“Ask him if he’ll give us time for preparation,” I said. “Tell him that regardless of what happens, it will make for a more interesting show.”
This struck Pilate as reasonable. “You have one hour,” he said.
“What are they saying?” asked Markowitz. “Are they going to let me go?”
Before Lavon could reply, a soldier walked up with two wooden training swords and a couple of small shields. He handed them to me.
“What are those for?” asked Markowitz.
I smiled as best I could as the guard unchained him; then I led him to the other side of the courtyard.
“Let’s go over here. There are some things you need to learn in a hurry.”