A spear that a soldier had left leaning in one corner of the chamber slid and fell to the floor with a loud echoing clang, but neither of the two men so much as glanced in its direction.
“But, Ceint. Can gods really appear just like that in our world?”
Pontius Pilate found himself struggling to grasp the situation. His Roman upbringing and secular spirit left him ill equipped to grapple with the improbable, radical gods that seemed to persist behind every shadow in this land of the Jews—and in every word and deed of the poor carpenter from Nazareth.
“Ceint. I’m afraid I don’t understand how feeding a crowd of the poor with a piece of bread necessarily makes one a god.”
“The gods control man’s destiny, and through natural phenomena they let their existence and their will be known. Usually, they are far removed from men, but when they do appear to us . . . that’s when we say a miracle has occurred.”
“A miracle did occur. Does that make Jesus of Nazareth the Messiah?”
“Prefect. We must not allow Jesus to live because—”
“Yes?” Pilate said.
The light reflected from the leaves outside the window gave a greenish cast to the tense features of the two men. Or perhaps it was the unease they felt in their hearts showing on their faces.
“You know why.”
Pontius Pilate uncrossed and recrossed his legs and rearranged his cape across his shoulder.
“It is time to finish this trial.”
Once again the judges and the kohanim were called back into the chamber. Behind them came the guard, dragging Jesus of Nazareth by a rope that was tied around his waist. High Judge Achaioi declared the court back in session.
With the silver rod of office in his hand, Pontius Pilate pointed toward the priests.
“Kohanim. Before I pronounce my judgment upon this man, I have a question to ask of you.”
As one, the kohanim inclined their heads.
“Kohanim. I would like to know what you think about the Day of Judgment this man of Nazareth predicts. Tell me.”
An old man, the eldest of the kohanim, stepped forward. The depth of his anger was clear upon his face.
“Prefect, God is not some—some thing which comes after some final day of judgment, such as this man claims. What, I ask you, is this judgment at the end of days—this Final Judgment? Does God judge men? God gave birth to men. Men are an expression of God’s will. Perhaps, after we were created, our thoughts and our actions were somewhat different than what God had hoped for.” The old man had a far-off look in his eyes as he spoke. “Thus there might be a time when God reviews mankind and decides to create men anew . . .”
“And isn’t that the Final Judgment?” Pilate asked.
The kohen waved his hands in a grand gesture. “Absolutely not. Prefect, this review will not take the form of a judgment. God speaks through his prophets to communicate his desires. Men follow these prophecies to plan their lives.”
Another of the old kohen stood. “Prefect. What troubles me is what this man says about the need for us to purify our hearts and rectify our actions in anticipation of God’s judgment. There is a terrible threat veiled within these words. The dread of a Final Judgment is a terrifying thing for this man to lay upon our unknowing, piteous people.”
The third kohen stood. “Even if peace should come to our land as a result of the people’s fear, it would be a distant thing indeed from true happiness. God is not some kind of side effect, Prefect.”
Then the final kohen, unable to restrain himself any longer, threw up his hands and shouted, “Nail him to the cross!”
“Yes, Prefect,” the first kohen declared, “what more questioning could you possibly require? His guilt is clear and apparent. Give him a swift death!”
Pilate waved down the kohanim with one hand and turned to the accused. “Jesus of Nazareth. I have a question for you. You must’ve known when you came into Jerusalem that this would happen. I cannot believe you imagined you would leave the city alive. So why did you come? What was it about coming to this place that made it worth risking your life? Did someone tell you to do this? If so, then who? Well?” Pilate’s eyes flashed.
The man of Nazareth was gazing off into a corner of the courtyard, perhaps listening to Pilate’s words, perhaps not. When the prefect had finished talking, Jesus turned bodily to face him. His eyes glimmered like flames. “It was not suggested to me that I come to Jerusalem, nor was I so commanded. I came because I had to.”
“You had to come?”
“Prefect, do you believe in miracles?”
Pilate fell silent. His previous discussion with Ceint drifted up unwelcome in his mind. “What about miracles?”
“If I am to show the people that I am truly the Son of God, then I must show them miracles.”
“And exactly what sort of miracle will you perform to prove that you are the Son of God?”
The Nazarene’s face twisted into a smile, revealing filthy teeth that stuck out from between his scabbed lips.
“That’s the thing, isn’t it?” Jesus nodded, pleased that they were finally getting to this part of the conversation.
“What’s the thing, now?”
The man of Nazareth extended his arms out straight to either side. “One of you wanted to put me death? Then do it. I don’t care. I’ve come to Jerusalem to reveal my greatest miracle. I will show you. No, I will show all of Jerusalem—everyone throughout the entire Roman Empire—that I am truly the Son of the one true God.”
“You mean to say that you came to Jerusalem knowing full well that you would be put to death?” Pilate shook his head. Leaning back in his seat, he tapped the silver rod in his hand upon the arm of the sofa.
“Prefect, I will be nailed to the cross. And upon that cross I will die. At that time, there will be a great miracle, and men will tremble in fright, and they will fall to the ground and beg forgiveness before God for all the sins they have committed.”
Pilate took another cup of milk tea from his servant, downed most of it in one gulp, then threw the bowl at the captive’s feet. It broke into shards and the remaining tea splashed across the stone tiles like a scattering of white petals.
Jesus spoke on. “For those who doubt that I am the Son of God and the Messiah, I must give them proof. The time is nigh. Put me up on the cross! It is all I wish.”