The basilica was built at a convenient location facing the marketplace on one side and the sea on another. The sailors and construction crews did the heavy work, while skilled craftsmen fashioned the beauty for months after the crews had put out to sea in the spring.
Long before the basilica was completed, Pilate decided to name the building in honor of Tiberius and had the following chiseled into its cornerstone in three-inch lettering:
CAESARIENS. TIBERIÉVM
PONTIVS PILATVS
PRAEFECTVS IVDAEAE
DEDIT
“Pontius Pilatus, Prefect of Judea, has presented the Tiberiéum to the Caesareans,” a simple but proud sentence.*
The Tiberiéum project proved popular with the Caesareans. To be sure, the more sensitive Jewish citizens at first disdained the construction, since they thought it would be just another temple to a pagan deity—or worse, a Roman emperor. But when they learned what Pilate intended with his Tiberiéum, they grew curious enough to join the gentile population of the city in watching the basilica take shape.
Strangely, the prefect of Judea had as yet had little contact with his neighboring rulers in Palestine, the sons of Herod the Great. But Pilate’s council had given him a full briefing on the idiosyncrasies of these unusual brothers. One was Herod Antipas, the tetrarch of Galilee and Perea, lands bordering to the north and east of Judea. His half-brother Philip was tetrarch of an area northeast of the Sea of Galilee called by such near-medical names as Trachonitis, Auranitis, and Batanea. A third brother, Archelaus, had been named by Augustus as ethnarch over the rest of Palestine—Judea, Samaria, and Idumaea—areas which contained the majority of the Jewish population. If Archelaus had ruled wisely, he was to have been named king in accordance with Herod’s will. But he proved a failure and was exiled, and to govern his critical areas of Palestine, Rome had sent her succession of prefects and now Pilate.
“Herod Antipas is the one to watch,” Pilate’s council warned him. “He’s very ambitious, very clever and sly, very much the son of Herod the Great.” Even back in Rome, Pilate had known that Antipas had diplomatically insinuated himself into the warm friendship of both the emperor and Sejanus. The naming of the handsome Greek-style capital he was building on the Sea of Galilee was no accident—Tiberias—nor was the renaming of the lake itself, the Sea of Tiberias. Sejanus, to be sure, had counseled Pilate to beware of any attempt by Antipas to transform his role from tetrarch into king, but he wondered if Antipas had not been given similar orders to watch the new prefect of Judea. Not that monarchy was an option for Pilate, but Rome always worried about her governors assuming too much personal power in the provinces.
As expected, neither Herod Antipas nor Philip had attended Gratus’s state reception for Pilate in Caesarea, though both had dispatched diplomatically proper messages of welcome. At the time, Antipas had been harassed by Arab border raids on his Transjordanian territories. But he had deftly solved that problem by marrying the darkly beautiful daughter of the Arab king, Aretas. Hostilities quickly ceased.
Pilate now wondered if he should take the initiative in any correspondence or diplomatic exchange with the neighboring tetrarchs. “Nothing more than the present, normal channels,” his advisers counseled. “Why stir up Herod’s whelps? They might bite.”
In the spring of 27 A.D., Pilate spent a week in Jerusalem at the time of the Jewish Passover. Each year, this festival developed a danger potential, since pilgrims from throughout Palestine and even overseas Mediterranean lands swelled Jerusalem to several times its size. The prefect of Judea was regularly on hand with troop reinforcements to quell any rioting which was prone to occur at this time, particularly by anti-Roman Zealots. But, mercifully for the new governor, this Passover was orderly.
Upon returning to Caesarea, Pilate found this message awaiting him:
L. Aelius Sejanus, praefectus praetorio, to Pontius Pilatus, praefectus Iudaeae, greeting.
The report of your first months in Judea was interesting to us. To reply to your questions: First, your erecting a “Tiberiéum” is praiseworthy. The princeps is pleased. But, no, he has no plans for travel to the East, so he cannot be present for the dedication. Second, your suggestion that at least one cohort in Judea be composed of Roman citizen troops has something to commend it, but this will require further review. Third, yes, apply to Pacuvius in Antioch if you need emergency reinforcements. Lamia, the “eminent legate of Syria” (our local lackey) has agreed to this. Fourth, yes, you do have authority to change the high-priesthood in Jerusalem whenever you see fit. If Caiaphas doesn’t cooperate, replace him. But Valerius Gratus, who reported to us recently, thinks Caiaphas will suit your purposes.
Cornelius, the courier who brings this letter, can give you the latest news from Rome.
A final matter, Pilate. Writing me simply, “We recently dispersed a demonstration of Jews in Caesarea without bloodshed” is hardly an adequate account of what really happened. I was dismayed to learn that you had yielded to the Jews in recalling the Augustan Cohort from Jerusalem. You were right in not removing the emperor’s medallions—that would have been treasonable—but I thought we had agreed about being firm in the face of Jewish provocations. Farewell.
“How did Sejanus learn about the ensigns?” Pilate growled.
“Caiaphas?” Procula suggested.
“Hardly. Jews dislike Sejanus as much as he despises them. They never approach him.—What about Gratus? No. He left before the trouble.”
“Be sensible, Pilate. News of anything so spectacular as six days of shouting by thousands of people and a threatened mass execution in the hippodrome is bound to get to Rome. Anyone in Caesarea writing friends—”
“You’re probably right. Yet normal mail to Rome takes some time in the winter months. Sejanus seems to have learned the details sooner than that. You don’t suppose someone’s been spying for him here in Palestine? Yes…What about Herod Antipas? Yes, Antipas! To further ingratiate himself with Sejanus as confidential informer while embarrassing a rival governor. Shrewd of him! But two can play that game.”
“But you have no proof it was actually Antipas.”
“Of course not. But he bears watching. Meanwhile, I’ll write Sejanus a convincing defense of the way I handled the affair.”
Pilate sent for the courier who had delivered the message from Rome. “Your name’s Cornelius, I understand.”
“Yes.”
“One of the finest family names in Rome.”
“But we’re not from the patrician branch, sir.”
“Now, lad, tell us all the news from Rome—and don’t omit a detail.”
Cornelius’s briefing impressed Pilate. A week later, he entrusted the courier with a bundle of correspondence for friends in Rome, as well as his letter of justification to Sejanus.
“You’re a good man, Cornelius,” said Pilate. “When will you make centurion?”
“Not for three or four years yet, Prefect.”
“When you do and it comes time for your overseas service, why not put in for Judea? Caesarea’s a pleasant town.”
“I’ll give it serious thought, sir.” Cornelius smiled. “Farewell.”
The fellow was probably happy to get out of the province and back to Rome, Pilate surmised. But at least he had manners enough to manage a diplomatic fib.
Pilate heard nothing more from Sejanus on the standards affair. Evidently his carefully worded explanation of the incident had been satisfactory. But the source of Sejanus’s information still troubled him. No one likes to be watched.
Pursuing his suspicion, Pilate began to take the measure of his co-rulers in Palestine. Intelligence proved easy to acquire. “A secret whispered in Jerusalem one day is shouted in Galilee the next,” a local adage had it. In fact, there were few secrets in the land.