“Posh! You sound like a Greek Skeptic. You’re actually afraid to tell me the date of your birth for fear I’ll somehow tamper with your destiny. Well, don’t bother then. I get paid handsomely for my predictions, which I offered you without charge.”
Pilate was trying to apply the salve of diplomacy to the ruffled feelings of the astrologer when Thrasyllus ventured on a new tack. “When you get to Judea, Prefect, would you at least do me an important favor?”
“Certainly, Thrasyllus. What is it?”
“You know, of course, that the princeps spent almost seven years studying on the island of Rhodes? In fact, that’s where he met me.”
“Yes.” Pilate thought sulking would have been a better term than studying, since this was the famous self-imposed exile of Tiberius, in resentment at Augustus.
“Well,” continued Thrasyllus, “I was teaching the princeps astronomy, as well as its greater application, astrology, when my calculations were upset by a strange celestial phenomenon in the southeastern skies. A star…no, it was brighter than a star…a planet, perhaps, but larger than any we know…moved along the southeastern horizon somewhere south of Syria and north of Egypt, possibly Judea.”
“Perhaps it was a comet.”
“Yes, more like a comet than anything else, but its movements were more erratic. And it appeared just two years after the conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn in the Sign of Pisces, the Fish.”
“Is that significant?”
“The planet Jupiter symbolizes the ruler of the universe. The constellation of the Fish represents the last days. And Saturn is the planet of Palestine. So Jupiter encountering Saturn in the Sign of the Fish means that a cosmic ruler will appear in Palestine at the culmination of history.”
“Well, how does the comet fit in?” Pilate was doing his best to humor the astrologer.
“Comets signal important changes in the Roman state. What dominated the skies in the year Caesar was assassinated? A blood-red comet, so bright you could see it in the daytime. What preceded the battle of Philippi? A comet. What heralded the death of Augustus?”
“A comet?” Pilate ventured boldly.
“Exactly,” smiled Thrasyllus. “So, on the basis of both the conjunction and the comet, this world ruler from Palestine should also cause great changes in the Roman state.”
“A rather sweeping prediction. But what was the favor you wished of me?”
“When you get to Jerusalem, contact the college of priests and inquire whether some kind of astral event took place in the skies over Judea about thirty years ago. Then write me their reply and its description.”
“Easily done.”
The dinner progressed through a modest four courses. Pilate was rejoicing in the silence of Thrasyllus when he noticed Curtius Atticus fastening his beady brown eyes on him. “Now I know why the name Pontius struck me as so familiar,” Atticus exclaimed. “The tribune Pontius Aquila—were you related to him, Prefect?”
Noticeably nervous, Pilate replied, “Just a distant cousin of my father.”
“Oho! It was your relative Aquila, then, who wouldn’t stand up to salute Julius Caesar in his triumphal parade,” smirked Atticus. “And Caesar never forgot that insult. How did he conclude his speeches in the Senate? ‘I will proceed in these matters…if, that is, Pontius Aquila will permit.’”
The dinner party had stilled to an incongruous hush. The reference to Pilate’s republican connection disturbed Tiberius, who stopped eating and now looked uneasily at his new appointee.
Unrelenting, Atticus continued, “And later on, your cousin Aquila helped stab Caesar to death.”
Sejanus broke in angrily, “We all have some republican relatives, Atticus. Even the family of the princeps once opposed Caesar—”
“Thank you, Prefect, but even this is unnecessary,” Pilate interrupted, now more angry than embarrassed. “Do you all remember how Aquila died? Fighting on Augustus’s side. The Senate even voted a statue in his honor. Of all the conspirators against Caesar, Aquila was most honored in death.”
“Enough, gentlemen!” commanded Tiberius. “You have our confidence, Pilate. Show as much loyalty to the Empire in Judea as Pontius Aquila, ‘the Eagle,’ did to the Republic. No one can ask for more.”
Sejanus grabbed a goblet, raised it slowly, and said, “Then I propose a toast to Pontius Pilatus. May he reform Judea as successfully as the javelin improved the Roman military!”
Pilate was delighted with the toast, for it had been a play on his name Pilatus, which meant “armed with a javelin.” The pilum or javelin was a balanced missile six feet long, half wooden handle and half pointed iron shaft, which Roman legionaries hurled at their enemies with devastating effect. It was the pilum, in fact, which had made the Empire possible, Pilate proudly reflected.
Oblivious to the rise and fall of voices around him, Pilate happily anticipated Procula’s excitement at hearing of his official appointment. He was too lost in thought to feel a slight tremor that shook the walls of the cave, nor did anyone else at the noisy dinner table.
Then he went on to explore several private doubts about his new post. Although his knowledge of Judea was far from complete, one consideration, which he suspected might be of prime importance, had already become clear to him. Force of arms alone would not ensure peace in Judea. A great deal of diplomacy would be required as well, and this was what worried him. Well aware of his own strengths and limitations, Pilate knew himself to be a more than competent military commander; but he wondered about his ability to understand these strange people, the Jews. How should one deal with subjects who, apparently, see little value in the Roman way of life and cling so tenaciously to their own laws and customs? Romanization? A fine proposal when discussed among Roman officials, but, he asked himself, how would the Jews react?
As Pilate came out of his reverie, he began to look with greater interest at the interior of the grotto. He now noticed that the walls of the cavern were not entirely stone as he had assumed, but appeared to consist of a good deal of clay as well. Another gentle vibration shook the cave, this time causing Pilate to bound to his feet. Then a much stronger tremor rocked the entire grotto, accompanied by a terrifying rumbling noise, as if the earth were splitting in two.
“Earthquake! Clear the grotto,” roared Pilate, but his voice was lost in the ghastly creaking sound and the general confusion.
A huge, jagged boulder, smeared with foul-smelling clay, crashed onto the table, splattering Pilate and Thrasyllus with food and wine. Great sections of the ceiling of the cavern became dislodged and plummeted down on the panicked dining party. The pungent earth smell of the grotto grew intense, unbearably acrid, as more of the cavern caved in. Atticus, white as his toga, started screaming, and he was joined by a full shrieking chorus of terrified guests.
Accustomed to danger, but frozen with the fear of being helplessly trapped and squashed like an animal, Pilate hesitated for a crucial moment before gathering his wits and breaking toward the daylight of the grotto’s entrance, But a razor-edged slab of stone broke off the ceiling and sent him sprawling to the floor of the cave. Oblivious to a serious gash in his left arm, he scrambled to his feet and now had to slosh through knee-deep water, since the fish pool was disgorging its water across the floor of the cavern. The Laocoön serpents seemed to come alive as the great statue lurched forward and crashed, amid the echoing clatter of shattering statuary throughout the cave.
When Pilate stumbled to safety on the open beach, he found Thrasyllus, quaking and crying, and could locate about half of the dinner party. But where was the emperor? And Sejanus? Pilate looked back into the murky darkness of the grotto and saw several figures trying to escape. At that moment, the huge upper lip at the mouth of the cavern parted from its matrix and came thundering down, completely blocking the entrance in a cloud of debris. The screams of those crushed beneath the masses of rock and earth echoed up and down the shore, while the Mediterranean started pouring in angrily through fissures which yawned open in the sands.