The Wolf and the Lamb Read online

  “Your country rabbi hardly constitutes a threat to the mighty Roman Empire, Caiaphas, nor does he pose one to you. You worry too much about all the wrong things.”

  “He has many followers. Some say hundreds, thousands.”

  “Thousands? Did anyone actually count them? And who are they, High Priest? I will tell you. They are farmers and fishermen, the forgotten, the landless, women, and shepherds. Shepherds, High Priest, imagine. I doubt you could find anything more dangerous on them than a gutting knife or pruning shears. They may be determined in their newly discovered faith, but hardly pose a threat to anyone.”

  “Their newly discovered faith of which you speak is not new and it is not from the Lord, as you surely know. And that is not the problem. What we fear is that in their zeal to proselytize, they will stir up trouble. Not everyone is as tolerant of unorthodoxy as you.”

  “You seriously believe that I tolerate a lack of orthodoxy? Surely you misspeak, Caiaphas. I am many things, but unorthodox, much less radical, is not one of them.”

  “And I tell you, Gamaliel, while you insist on being blind to the inherent danger these people pose, I foresee problems that could very well end in the undoing of us all. Do you not understand that Rome will leap at any excuse to destroy the fragile balance we have established here? Even a trivial uprising could topple it. One dissident rabbi and a handful of misguided Sicarii, and everything could collapse around us. And then where will you and I be?’

  “It is a sobering thought if true, but I do not believe it. The Lord has promised us the land and the future. He will not desert us now or ever. Passover is about the flight from bondage to freedom, to the land promised to us. We are here. The promise has been kept, and even when we stray and are carried off to Babylon, he leads us back. So, to answer your question, where will I be? Rome or no Rome, I will be in my study with, as you put it, my musty companions. May I suggest that if you wish to ponder a problem of real import, you might turn your mind to discovering why our Prefect arrived early for Passover this year and why a party of Roman officials, who may or may not be part of the Prefect’s entourage, have descended on the city as well, and both a full week early. What is in the wind?”

  “And why is that a problem?”

  “Romans are many things and most of them quite unpleasant, but the characteristics on which we have come to rely are their maddening consistency and predictability. The arrival of this group at this time lacks both. It is a problem to be solved and therefore it is imperative that you discover what they are up to. Now I must leave.”

  “And the rabbi and his ragtag band? What am I to do about them?”

  “Forget them. One eccentric rabbi more or less should not be your concern. Rather, find out what Pilate and his bullies are about.”

  Chapter III

  Gamaliel moved off toward his home. He had been listening to the High Priest’s rants about Rabbi Yeshua ben Josef since the Galilean had first come to his notice as a person with something of a following. At least he boasted more than a floating minyan such as characterized most of his contemporaries. After the idiotic beheading of John the Baptizer by King Herod and Yeshua’s alleged blood relationship to the Desert Prophet, Yeshua’s presence seemed to have gained more gravitas, a fact which doubtless explained the High Priest’s concerns.

  The real problem for the Nation was Rome’s heavy foot pressed on the neck of the Nation, so that each day began and ended in uncertainty and, for many, fear. In times like these, it was not unusual for messiahs of all shapes and sizes to crawl out from under every rock or lurk behind every tree. Unless and until the Nation wrested free from its oppressive overlord, that phenomenon would continue and grow. Its history demonstrated that when oppressed, the Nation would soon be rife with prospective saviors. Occasionally they would actually rise up and liberate the people for a time, the Maccabees, Gideon, Saul, and David…but they were the exceptions—exceptions that forged the Nation, to be sure—but exceptions, nevertheless. And now along comes this rabbi from Nazareth. He had amassed an impressive following and the hopes of some—who knows how many—rested on his claim to be Mashiach. So, messiahs, redeemers, would-be saviors, Moseses and this Yeshua. It had always been so. It would always be so, but Gamaliel, for one, did not see another Moses on the horizon, the High Priest’s obsession on Yeshua ben Josef notwithstanding.

  In any case, and for reasons Gamaliel would never understand, Caiaphas had determined that of all these self-proclaimed rabbis, prophets, and holy men, Yeshua posed a threat to the Nation. In one minor respect, Gamaliel thought, the High Priest just might have it right. If any one of the many itinerant preachers and prophets would have a lasting impact, he guessed this Yeshua could be the one. He had a message that differed from the others, even from that of his presumptive cousin. But did that justify the High Priest’s obsession with him? Gamaliel thought not. There were so many other, more pressing issues confronting them at present that needed their attention.

  Why, given this rather obvious situation, had the High Priest singled out this particular man? He’d once asked that of Caiaphas. “Why are you so concerned with this particular rabbi and not any of the half a hundred like him?”

  “I hardly think ‘half a hundred’ describes their number and I am concerned about them, Rabban, but this Yeshua seems to touch people in ways that differ significantly from the others. Oddly, he seems to know the Law and the Prophets and yet presents them in ways that are well beyond the self-serving ramblings of his contemporaries. He is, shall I say, seductive. It is almost as if…”

  The High Priest had not finished the sentence. Gamaliel had waited and then turned away. He did not care to hear the ending. He could guess what it would be. He’d heard it all before—many times. His own examination of the man had convinced him that with some training and a measure of discipline, this Galilean might make a passable scholar. Otherwise, he thought his teaching radical and borderline heretical. Interesting, in an offbeat near-Persian sense, but with all that, he could not see Yeshua as a threat to anyone, much less to the Nation. He deemed the idea absurd.

  He left the High Priest with his rabbinic fixation and made his way homeward. The streets of Jerusalem were becoming congested with early arrivals for the Passover. The influx of men and women from all over the Empire occurred every High Holy day, but Passover always produced the largest crowds. Judging by the numbers already camped on the hills surrounding the city, this particular Passover seemed not only to be attracting many more celebrants than usual, but they were arriving earlier as well. He could not think of any reason why that should be, nor could he have quantified it. But he had the clear impression that the press of humanity was greater than the previous years and had a different feel to it. The air seemed to possess a tension which he could not explain. It reminded him of the malaise he often felt before a violent storm, before the lightning cracked open the sky and caused his heart to skip a beat.

  He’d pointed out to the High Priest that the Prefect had traveled down from Caesarea early. Were they missing something? In his near single-minded attention to his studies and students and Caiaphas’ equally absorbing obsession with vagabond rabbis, had they blocked out the possibility that something momentous, which they should have known or heard about, was about to occur? The High Priest had offered no enlightenment nor had Gamaliel any thoughts on the matter, although it crossed his mind that the Isaiah scroll resting on his desk might be a place to start. He would look into it right after the Passover or perhaps he would task his students to glean that particular field.

  So occupied had his mind been with musings about pending catastrophes and messianic claims, he nearly missed spotting the young man loitering by his doorway. Gamaliel had an instinct for people. He paused to inspect this nondescript individual, who was shifting from one foot to the other, slouched in the shadows provided by the door’s stone archway, seemingly impatient on the one hand and anxious on the other. Outward appearances, Gamaliel knew, could be deceiving. T
his young man, for example, in spite of his shabby clothing, would be someone’s servant. A servant sent to him to solicit a ruling, a visit, or a loan of a manuscript? He couldn’t be sure. The boy stared at him expectantly. His eyes lit up and he opened and shut his mouth. It seemed that if he didn’t soon speak, the words would come vomiting out of his mouth. Gamaliel took a few steps forward and waited for the greeting and the reason the boy waited for him.

  “Excellency, do I address the Rabban of the Sanhedrin?”

  “You do, and I am not anyone’s ‘Excellency,’ boy.”

  “Sorry. Umm, that is greetings, sir, and…”

  “Yes, yes, speak up. What is it you wish from me?”

  “Not me, sir, my Master bids you to attend on him.”

  So, definitely a member of someone’s household and judging by his dress, not a Hebrew household. The shabbiness of the boy’s cloak could also mean not a wealthy one or it could mean the person requiring the meeting wished not to draw attention to his messenger, and by indirection, to himself.

  “He does. And who, may I ask, is this master of yours?”

  The young man, boy glanced furtively over his shoulder, leaned in toward Gamaliel, and cocked his head to one side. In a voice the Rabban could barely hear he said, “The Prefect, sir.”

  “What? Are you saying Pontius Pilate wishes to see me?”

  “Shhhh. Yes, sir, he does, now.”

  “I am confused. In the past, when the mighty Pilate required my presence, he did not send me an invitation in the person of a boy in a disreputable cloak. He commanded my presence and would send a contingent of his smartest legionnaires to escort me in the unlikely event I refused the invitation. My journey to the Fortress flanked by the best the local contingent of the army had to offer would always be both impressive and humiliating—impressive for the Prefect, humiliating for me. So, where are his soldiers? What has happened to the noble Roman that I no longer rate this treatment? Is he ill? I know a very fine Physician, if that is the case.”

  “They are not available.”

  “Who are not available? Pilate has arrived in the city with a full complement of soldiers and you tell me none of them are available to march me across the city to the Antonia Fortress like a felon? Truly welcome news, but I find it hard to believe.”

  “But it is so, Excellency.”

  “You are not listening. I am not your…Oh, never mind. Let me see if I have this right. Pilate sent you here, apparently in the worst clothes you could find, to summon me to his Eminence. Yet, with all his power and position, he cannot send his soldiers for some reason and so he sends me a boy. Am I to understand, that the reason for the latter is the explanation for the former?”

  “Sir?”

  “And the summons to meet with him has to do with both of the above.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I ask…No, of course you don’t. I am not sure I do either. Very well, let me go into my dwelling and freshen up. I need to tell my servant where I am going. Caution requires that one do so before entering the presence of the Prefect on the oft chance one never returns. Then at least your family and friends can guess what has happened to you. I see that you are confused, I know. People who deal with me often are. So, don’t try to understand, my son. Wait here for a moment. I will return shortly.”

  “But he said to bring you straightaway. We must go, your Excellency.”

  “For the last time, I am not ‘your Excellency’ and also, I am saying to you that whether the great Pontius Pilate wishes it or not, I am not prepared to attend him just now. If the Prefect’s need of me is both genuine and urgent, I would be standing in his august presence at this very moment. I would have been escorted to him by the legionnaires I just mentioned. Since he has not sent them, I must assume there is no such urgency. Wait here.”

  The messenger started to argue, then realized the futility of doing so. He sighed and leaned against the stone portico and contemplated the beating he would probably receive for not having produced the Rabban in quick time, as he’d been ordered.

  Chapter IV

  During the Hebrews’ High Holy days, the number of Roman troops billeted in Jerusalem increased to a full cohort and a half, with the arrival of the Prefect of the Palestine, Pontius Pilate, and his household. Pilate and his entourage would make the trip southward along the coast of the Middle Sea from Caesarea Maritima to Joppa, and then climb the hills to Jerusalem. There, they would be joined by the resident legionnaires and staff assigned to the Antonia Fortress.

  Passover especially attracted faithful Jews. Pilgrims were known to travel from places as far away as Hispania or Britannia, eager to be in King David’s city for this celebration of the Flight from Egypt and its Pharaoh into the Promised Land. Worshippers, celebrants, and curiosity-seekers crowded into an area that could comfortably accommodate a tenth their number. Add to that the presence of the Emperor in the person of the Prefect and every radical, latent revolutionary, plus scores of fakers and frauds, and the mixing and mingling in their number made for an unusually tense time. Thus, the Empire bolstered its military presence. It was a cycle repeated every year—and one that would one day lead to confrontation and bloodshed and the destruction of a Nation.

  Now, a full week before the beginning of the holiday, the city’s population had already grown twentyfold. An official delegation sent by the Emperor had arrived unannounced. The Prefect had not been read into the reason for it being thrust on him, and that worried him. With Emperor Tiberius sequestered on the Isle of Capri, wallowing in depravity and madness, any sort of visitation commissioned by him that included people of rank and influence did not bode well for the residents of Roman Palestine in general, nor Pilate, in particular. Still, he had had to follow up on the Centurion’s request. And now? The untimely death of his rival displaced all other concerns he may have had. The presence of these officials and their mission was overshadowed by a need to survive a charge of murder. Pilate found himself reduced to waiting for the Rabban of the Sanhedrin to come to his rescue. The eagle must seek help from the hare; the wolf must seek guidance from the sheep.

  The irony would not be lost on either of them.

  ***

  Try as he might, Gamaliel could not extract anything more from the boy except that the Prefect wishes to see the Rabban, and it is a matter of some urgency. The last time Gamaliel could remember having been summoned into the Prefect’s presence, it had not been an easy meeting. He hoped this one would not be a repeat of that. As they approached the Antonia Fortress, his guide veered sharply to the side and circled the building. Gamaliel began to wonder if he hadn’t been lured into a trap. The broad stairway leading up from the Temple Mount into the platform that fronted the Fortress was the only entrance he knew. Where was this boy taking him? Surely Pilate…

  “Here now, boy,” he said. “Where are you taking me? This is not the way to the Prefect.”

  “I am only following my orders, sir. Please, this way.”

  The boy hurried on. Gamaliel had no choice but to follow. He could have reversed and gone home, but he doubted that ploy would work. If the Prefect really did wish to see him, he’d be dragged back again and not nicely. Besides, his curiosity had been piqued. He knew that his curiosity often ended by putting him in situations that were less than beneficial, yet he yielded to it. Pilate could be arbitrary and cruel, but at the same time, any call into his presence would be intriguing. His best course was to follow the boy and see what the mighty Roman had in store.

  Bypassing the Prefect’s elaborate apartment, where in the past Gamaliel had been alternately scolded and cajoled, the boy led him through a small portal and into a rat’s warren of corridors. After six or so turns, Gamaliel lost all sense of direction. He could not have found his way out to save his life. Now, he had no choice but to quick-step along with the boy. After what seemed a lifetime, the boy flung open a heavy cedar door and ushered him into a smallish room. There were no windows and the only egress seeme
d to be the door through which he’d just entered. The space was redolent with the nearly overpowering scent of burning pitch emitted by the flames of seven torches set about the walls in angled sconces. In the room’s center Pilate sat in a rough chair behind an even cruder table. If Gamaliel had to guess, this room would normally serve as a gathering place for the soldiers stationed at the Fortress or perhaps a holding room for prisoners. That possibility nearly brought him to an abrupt stop.

  “Greetings, Excellency,” he said. “You summoned me and I came.” He waved his arm in a circle, “I am sure there must be an explanation for this…ah…setting. I am here and at your disposal.”

  While he spoke, Gamaliel scrutinized the Roman. In all his dealings with the Prefect in the past, the man had been trim, well turned out, and supremely confident. But this Prefect slouched in his chair, wine cup atilt. He had not shaved his beard, the peculiar custom practiced by Gentiles. His clothing seemed rumpled. He had left off his signature decorative body armor and wore only a short toga and a crude leather belt which would have seemed more appropriate for a soldier than the Emperor’s official overseer of the Promised Land.

  Pilate waved him into a chair. “As you have noted, this setting is not my usual place to conduct business. To be perfectly honest with you, I am in laribus.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I am under house arrest. That is if it is possible for one to place the current and only anointed Prefect in that condition.”

  “Excellency, you need to be more specific. By whom and for what crime have you been arrested?”

  “Sit. It is a long story. Knowing how gossip floats about Jerusalem, you will have heard by now that the Emperor recently dispatched several emissaries to the city. I was to provide the usual hospitality afforded people of their rank and position. They, in turn, were to deliver dispatches, witness the city at its busiest, and report back on my efficiency. At any rate, I assumed that was the reason they were here. With the Emperor and his Commissions you can never be sure, but, as I had no other information, it is what I must accept as their purpose.”