Gratus had arranged it cleverly. As he and Pilate stood near the center of the reception line, his master of ceremonies, using Greek, would introduce a local dignitary, who was then escorted on while Gratus gave Pilate a whispered run-down on the man in Latin. The chamberlain detained the next person in line with amiable pleasantries until Gratus had finished his brief commentary in time for the new introduction. Magistrates from Caesarea, Sebaste, and other cities were presented, but the most significant contingent of guests were leading members of the Sanhedrin, the ruling senate of the Jews. They had come from Jerusalem to meet the man with whom—or, if necessary, against whom—they would govern Judea for the next years. The Jewish officials, easily identified by their lengthy beards and magnificently flowing robes, were presented with strict ceremonial regard to rank, the highest first.
“His Excellency, the High Priest of the Jewish nation, Joseph Caiaphas,” the chamberlain intoned. After an almost cordial introduction, and when the high priest was just out of earshot, Gratus quietly commented to Pilate, “Caiaphas you can work with. He cooperates with Rome. It took me a long time to find him. His father-in-law is Ananus, or Annas, the real patriarch and power behind the priesthood in Jerusalem. Annas probably didn’t show up because I removed him from the high priesthood shortly after I became prefect. Ha! After that I appointed and removed three other high priests until I found Caiaphas. But choosing him proved to be a good compromise because it placated Annas. The high priesthood was returned to his family through his son-in-law.”
“Rabbi Eleazar, of the Chamber of Priests!”
After Eleazar was introduced and moved out of range, Gratus whispered, “He’s an ex-high priest, one of those I sacked. Amazed he came.”
“Rabbi Jonathan, of the Chamber of Priests.”
“Now here’s a son of Annas who shows good promise,” Gratus confided. “If Caiaphas ever gives you trouble, you might dismiss him and appoint this Jonathan.”
“Rabbi Ishmael ben-Phabi, of the Chamber of Priests.”
A handsome personage, redolent in scented satins, presented himself for introduction, chatted a bit, and moved on. “Another of my former high priests,” Gratus disclosed, “and a pious and good man, though he has a problem with his sons.”
“Rabbi Alexander, of the Chamber of Priests.”
“Rich, very rich.”
“Rabbi Ananias ben-Nebedeus.”
“Quite a gourmand, this one, and what a table he sets! I’ve enjoyed one of his feasts. We went through twenty casks of wine, as many roasted calves, thirty fowl…but here comes Helcias.”
“Rabbi Helcias, Treasurer of the Temple.”
“An honest priest he is. A good man to have in charge of the treasury. Now, Pilate, we’ve met all members of the highest chamber of the Sanhedrin who made the trip here. The next group—here they come—are the scribes, members of the second chamber, some of the wisest scholars in the East.”
“Rabbi Gamaliel, of the Chamber of Scribes.”
“Gamaliel’s the finest of the lot. His grandfather was the famed savant Hillel, who emigrated here from Babylonia shortly after Caesar’s assassination. In breadth of knowledge, the Jews feel Gamaliel’s another Hillel.”
“Rabbi Jochanan ben-Zakkai, of the Chamber of Scribes.”
“He’s been studying the law of the Hebrews for almost forty years. It’s been said, ‘If the sky were parchment and all the trees of the forests pens, they would not suffice to record what Jochanan ben-Zakkai has learned.’”
“A modest claim!” Pilate smiled.
Ben-Zakkai turned and frowned at Pilate and Gratus, who were so caught up with the story that they had raised their voices somewhat. The rabbi, it seems, knew Latin.
Finally, members of the Chamber of Elders were introduced, the lowest of the groupings in the Sanhedrin. Names like Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea were announced, but Pilate had by now given up any hope of trying to remember all the Sanhedrists during this inaugural meeting.
It was Joseph Caiaphas who sought out Pilate later in the reception. Rather adroitly extracting him from Gratus’s shadow, the high priest sounded out the prefect on his intended policies for Judea. Pilate let several harmless platitudes camouflage his real plans, which he did not intend to lay before the only man in Judea who might block them. He promised a general continuation of the principles of the Gratus administration; it seemed the safe, the convenient, thing to say at the moment. At least Caiaphas appeared contented. Pilate was merely satisfied that his Greek seemed to be holding up.
“Naturally we’ve been very concerned about the emperor’s attitude toward Jewry ever since his expulsion of the Jews at Rome,” said Caiaphas, “and we feared that the appointment of a new prefect might signify a change in policy also for Judea. We hope this is not the case.” Before Pilate could comment, the high priest continued, “With proper respect for our traditions, which date back to Moses, there is no reason why Roman and Jew cannot dwell in peace in this sacred land.”
Pilate agreed, but wondered if the olive branch waved by Caiaphas was as much a diplomatic screen as his own efforts. Yet the two men had met, the pair who would virtually control Judea over the next years, and this had been the primary purpose of Gratus’s reception.
Early the next morning, the local auxiliary cohorts assembled for review in the drill grounds near the Herodian palace. Valerius Gratus bade his troops farewell, commending them for their loyalty and service, and officially transferred his authority to Pontius Pilate. Then, quavering from a fresh chill due to his malarial condition, he wished Pilate and Procula good fortune, escorted his wife onto the waiting ship, and sailed off to the Rome which he had not seen for eleven years.
Chapter 6
The first weeks in Caesarea passed with surprising ease. Pilate had to deal with some problems of adjustment, to be sure, and the usual new magistrate’s miseries, but nothing more than he had expected. Gratus had left behind a small advisory council, which gently schooled him in the considerable skills required of a praefectus Iudaeae. Composed of his officers’ staff, several local Roman and Hellenist civilians, and his own aides, the council assisted Pilate in some of the routine matters of his administration.
Procula, meanwhile, was kept busy putting her palace in order and meeting the important women of the city. But both soon sensed that something in their new life was not right. They found they were suffering from a galloping nostalgia, not so much for Rome as for Romans. Caesarea was a surprisingly cosmopolitan city, half Jewish and half other nationalities, but very few Romans lived there. And nowhere else in Judea were there even that many.
As a former praetorian, Pilate had hoped for some camaraderie with his military, and he never quite forgot his shock the first time he talked to his troops. At some distance they looked like typical Roman soldiers, well-armed with the usual helmet, cuirass, greaves, and shield. But when he addressed them in Latin, they simply looked confused and replied in Greek, a substandard Greek at that. But for a few senior tribunes, there was not a genuine Roman in any of the forces in Palestine. Pilate’s troops were auxiliaries, non-Romans of mixed Syrian or Samaritan nationality recruited locally for imperial service. Jews were exempted from military service because of dietary and Sabbath restrictions.
He knew these troops would be loyal enough to Rome in case of any Jewish insurrection, since Syrian pagans and Samaritans had little love for Jews, and vice versa. Whether or not the auxiliaries would be consistently dependable was another matter, the problem whenever mercenaries were involved. Fail to meet the pay allotments on time, over- or under-discipline the troops, or let some major grievance undermine morale, and the outnumbered Roman officers’ staff could have a mutiny on its hands.