Servants directed our party to our quarters through a series of narrow tunnels, which only compounded my belief that without inside knowledge, we’d never find our way through the palace’s tangled web of passageways.
Publius sent the woman to a side chamber and then scribbled something in Greek on a wax tablet. He gestured that I should take advantage of my free time to have a look around, which I did — though after half an hour of stumbling about in the dim light, I decided that I could accomplish more by getting a good night’s sleep.
A slave woke us just before dawn and led us down to the stables, where I could see that my reputation for horsemanship had preceded me. The Romans all laughed as one of the hands brought up an elderly mare only a step or two away from the glue factory.
At least it wouldn’t throw me. I hoped.
We made our way around the northern perimeter of the city at a leisurely pace, though we sped up toward the end as the Romans sensed trouble brewing.
They weren’t wrong in their assessment, either. A crowd had begun to gather at the northern end of the plaza fronting the Antonia. Though I couldn’t understand what they were saying, there was no mistaking the angry murmuring. This was not a happy bunch.
The interior of the fortress had turned into an anthill of activity as well. As soon as we charged through the gates, grooms took our horses — mine to cut up for breakfast, in all likelihood — as a Roman messenger called out to Publius.
The centurion directed me to follow him and shortly thereafter, I found myself once again in Pilate’s office.
The governor was pacing back and forth, mumbling to himself. Publius saluted and inquired about his foot, but Pilate just waved his hand as if he couldn’t be bothered.
Seeing that no one paid any attention to me, I backed up to the wall and did my best to blend into the stone. I tapped the earpiece’s transmitter so Lavon also could listen to the most amazing conversation I have ever heard. To this day, I can recall every single word.
***
Pilate finally stopped pacing and beckoned Volusus and the centurion to sit.
“You might wish you had stayed with Herod,” said the governor, who was no doubt well aware of the standard operating procedure at the king’s feasts. “We have a situation on our hands.”
“What’s happening,” said Publius.
“It’s that prophet,” said Volusus. “The Temple police picked him up last night.”
“They’re questioning him as we speak,” said Pilate. “In order to overcome the objections of his sympathizers in their council, Caiaphas will provide him a final opportunity to renounce this kingdom nonsense, publicly and unequivocally. If he does, I’ve agreed they can let him go. If he does not … well …”
“This is good, isn’t it?” said Publius. “I thought you wanted to get rid of him.”
“I do indeed,” Pilate replied.
But the governor did not appear to display any real enthusiasm for the task — something Publius found confusing.
“The problem,” said Volusus, “is his followers.”
“How many do we have in custody?” asked Publius.
“None,” said Pilate. “We weren’t involved in the arrest at all. I thought it best that their Temple police handle the business. I only sent an agent to observe.”
“Well then, how many did they take into custody?”
“Again, none,” said Volusus.
Now the centurion looked really perplexed. “Their soldiers couldn’t catch them? Didn’t any of his followers try to resist?”
“One of them took a half-hearted swing with a sword,” Volusus replied. “He sliced off a guard’s ear or something like that; so I’m told.”
“Only one?”
Volusus chuckled and held up a finger. “Yes; one. A single, solitary man fought back for a brief moment. The rest of them ran like rabbits.”
“Where did they go?” asked Publius.
“We don’t know,” replied Pilate. “Like I said, we had no direct role in picking him up. Our friends in the Temple have never demonstrated our customary thoroughness when handling this type of affair. You know that.”
Publius stared down at his feet. Finally he looked up. “You’re worried that this is a trick; a deception of some sort?”
Pilate nodded. “The whole thing was too easy. Only a few days ago, at least two thousand people lined the road waving palm branches as he rode into the city. They’re still out there. Some of them may be inside the walls as we speak, waiting for a signal.”
“Our intelligence networks are pretty good,” said Publius. “Surely we would have picked up at least some hint of that?”
“I would caution us all against overconfidence,” said Pilate. “An assumption like that is a time-honored path to disaster.”
“Herod, too, would have warned us if he had knowledge of trouble,” said the centurion. “I heard nothing to that effect last night.”
“That’s because your head was between — ”
Pilate cut himself off. “Never mind,” he snapped.
The governor stood up and got something to drink; then he started pacing back and forth once more. As he did so, the two senior Romans talked quietly amongst themselves.
I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but their faces visibly brightened. Whatever they were cooking up, they seemed well pleased with it.
“Perhaps, excellency, there is another solution,” said Volusus. “As you know, a crowd is beginning to form to the north of the fort.”
This got Pilate’s attention. He stopped pacing and returned to his seat.
“Did you find out what they want?” he asked.
“We heard grumbles about Barabbas,” said the centurion.
Pilate sighed. “With this prophet business, I had forgotten about him. What do you have in mind?”
“We let him go,” replied the commander.
“Let him go?” said Pilate.
“Yes, excellency.”
Pilate shook his head, vigorously. “No. Not a chance. This man is directly responsible for the deaths of Roman soldiers. Your men,” he added. “He must die.”
“And die he will,” replied Volusus. “Please hear us out.”
The governor signaled for them to proceed.
Volusus spoke carefully. “As I understand it, your intention is to make a public example of this prophet, but only in circumstances that will minimize the danger of a riot slipping out of control.”
Pilate nodded. “That is the heart of the matter. Go on.”
“And our primary hesitation in carrying out this objective is that we have too little in the way of reliable information about his followers — how many of them are in the city, where they are hiding, or their propensity for violence.”
“Hundreds of them may be planning to launch a revolt this very day,” said Publius, “or a few dozen may be cowering in fear inside tiny closets. We simply don’t know.”
“Yes,” said Pilate, “but what does this have to do with releasing Barabbas?”
“Our thought was that you could, perhaps, offer a choice between this prophet and the type of prisoner that certain, um, sectors of the society here are likely to support,” said Volusus. “Let them decide who lives and who dies. By doing so, they would give a stamp of popular approval to your decision.”
“And in the event a disturbance does break out as they choose,” said Publius, “two factions of the crowd would be set against each other. Eliminating the surviving troublemakers will be much less hazardous for us once they have exhausted themselves.”
I could see Pilate wasn’t entirely convinced, though he was obviously intrigued by the concept.
“Tell them that you’ve decided to release a prisoner as a goodwill gesture for the Passover, or something like that,” said Publius. “You’ve done it before.”
“Once,” grumbled Pilate. “And I swore I wouldn’t make that mistake again. The ungrateful bastard went out and murdered your predecessor straightaway.”
“That will not happen this time,” said Volusus. “Barabbas may leave this fortress today, but I can assure you that he will not die at peace in his bed, nor will any of his spawn. Within a month, after these crowds have gone home, he will begin his journey to the underworld.”
Pilate considered this in silence for a couple of minutes.
“All right,” he finally said, “The idea has promise. But how can we be sure the crowd will select the right man? What if too many of this prophet’s followers show up?”
“Barabbas’s supporters are already starting to assemble,” said Volusus. “Once enough of them are present, it won’t be hard to block a few streets, if the need arises.”
“We can also sprinkle agents in with the crowd to make helpful suggestions, just in case,” said Publius.
“Yes, do that,” said Pilate.
“Actually,” said Volusus, “if you stage-manage this properly, by the time you’re finished, you could even have the crowd cheering for the prophet’s death. Any repercussions will be their fault, not yours.”
“Take the theatrical approach,” said Publius. “Get a big bowl; wash your hands of the entire matter in front of them while they decide. Once it’s clear they’re going to vote the right way, you can act perplexed — like what you are supposed to do with their king? If you use the right tone of voice …”
Pilate considered this for a moment and then broke out into a smile.
“I like it,” he said, “although one thing still troubles me: freeing Barabbas could send his sort of vermin the wrong message. Even if you do plan to dispose of him later, the crowds will not be around to witness his death. Some of them may take away a mistaken impression of our resolve.”
The three Romans thought for a few moments. Then Volusus turned his head downward, as if toward the dungeon.
“A handful of the bandits we caught with Barabbas are still alive. Once the crowd has made its decision, wait an hour or so to let them disperse; then pick two of the prisoners and crucify them along with this prophet. That should send a clear enough signal.”