In midsummer he had a special assignment for Cornelius. “This will be something of an intelligence operation,” he told him. “We’ve heard rumors of some kind of unrest developing up in Galilee—that’s the breeding ground for the insurgents in Palestine, the home of the Zealot party. And it’s been some time since we’ve learned what Herod Antipas and his subjects are up to.”
“You mean Antipas might be behind this unrest?” Cornelius inquired.
“Hardly! It’s just that his administration—or maladministration—helps create the climate both there and here. And when clouds form in Galilee, it rains in Judea. The Zealots do a little demonstrating up there, but they reserve their full fury for riots in Judea.”
“Because Rome is in charge here.”
“Exactly. For instance, just last month it came to bloodshed. Several Zealots were inciting the people to riot, from the very steps of the temple in Jerusalem. The gathering crowd insulted the guards at the Antonia, and it came to a clash. Several Galilean pilgrims were cut down. And who gets credit for all this?”
“The prefect of Judea, of course.”
“Precisely, even though I wasn’t there at the time. The Galileans are now martyrs, identified as ‘those whose blood Pilate mingled with their sacrifices.’”
“Naturally. But what’s my role in your plan?”
“Take the east highway for about twenty miles. You’ll come to our frontier post, a place called Legio. It controls the pass through the Carmel mountain range into the plains of Galilee. Since Legio is so close to the border of Galilee, it’s our listening post for what goes on there. Now, after you interview our frontier officers, use one of our Aramaic guides to inquire casually among the merchants using the Megiddo Pass.”
“What sort of information are we after?”
“Find out what Antipas is doing…how the people feel now about his beheading John, the desert prophet…and, particularly, what the new commotion is in Galilee. See if the Zealots are involved in it and what their plans are. Can Rome expect more trouble from them? If so, where? This kind of thing, plus whatever else you can learn.”
Since Pilate was eager for answers, Cornelius’s absence seemed much longer than the three weeks he was actually gone. In the interim, Pilate received the first letters from Procula. The voyage was delightful, she wrote—no seasickness—and her father’s health was slowly improving. Rome was torrid but tolerable, since her girlhood friends were hosting a string of parties in her honor. She missed Pilate, and wouldn’t it be possible for him to join her in Rome later in the year, even for a short month?
It was only after picking through the gossip and succulent morsels of news in her second letter that Pilate found the marrow he had sought. Tiberius was still on Capri. Rumor had it that he was finally going to confer the tribunician power on Sejanus. Procula chanced to meet the exalted prefect himself one afternoon in the Forum. Her letter continued:
…Sejanus actually remembered me! He gallantly introduced me to the senators and clients surrounding him as “the beautiful wife of our efficient prefect of Judea.” Imagine! Then he asked about you and the Jews, and he even invited me to have dinner with him sometime. And guess what he said as they moved on: “Mark my words, countrymen. Rome will hear more of Pontius Pilatus.” So, dear husband, it looks as if you’re carrying winning colors in your political chariot race…
Pilate digested these lines with double satisfaction. Not only was his own star rising in the cluttered skies of Roman politics, but there was this second success: even Procula, that partisan of Agrippina, now had kind words for Sejanus!
“Herod Antipas is definitely on the defensive,” Cornelius reported to Pilate on his return. “He’s not panicking, but he’ll do anything to conciliate his subjects. The people haven’t forgiven him for beheading the Baptizer, though it hasn’t come to open rebellion.”
“What about King Aretas?”
“Still seething. The commandant at Legio has it from the tribune at Jericho that Aretas is building up his army for an attack on the Transjordan.”
“What about the Zealots?”
“Nothing much going on. It may be the calm before the storm, or it may not. They just aren’t out agitating.”
“Doesn’t make sense, Cornelius,” Pilate replied, apparently piqued at not getting the information he had expected. “We’ve received definite reports of some kind of turmoil going on up there—crowds, hill meetings…”
“I was just coming to that. You’re right. Something is afoot. A prophet up there seems to be attracting quite a following. He teaches the people by various means, usually unorthodox, I understand. The merchants reported that he’s preached in many of the synagogues of Galilee, and when these are denied him he takes to the open air…in the fields, on the hills. Once he even launched out onto the Sea of Tiberias and preached to the crowds from a boat. But there’s always a multitude around him, wherever he goes.”
“What’s his message?”
“Repentance. Prepare for—what was it?—the approaching ‘kingdom of God.’”
“That was the Baptizer’s message.”
“This prophet’s, too, though he also teaches a whole program for the new era which he claims has dawned on earth. The Pharisees, the Sadducees, and the priestly clan in Jerusalem are doing a poor job of leading the people in this new time, he contends.”
“Does he preach revolution?”
Cornelius thought for a moment, then replied, “No, not that I’ve heard so far. A spiritual revolution, perhaps, but no call to arms. The changes are to take place inside people, and then society will improve. People are to love, not hate…help, not hurt. A rather different message, what?”
“What do the Jewish authorities think of this prophet?”
“They’re divided. A few support him enthusiastically, but most are wary. The Pharisees hate him for his stinging attacks, and the Sadducees think he’s upsetting the status quo. But they haven’t bothered him yet.”
“I wonder why…”
“Because of the people. The man seems to wield enormous authority over the people. And small wonder! After each of his discourses, he supposedly starts healing them, curing their diseases…”
“That’s not very unusual, Cornelius,” remarked Pilate, a little condescendingly. “The eastern Mediterranean is full of faith healers. Some of them even get as far as Rome. I remember once when I was young—”
“I can too, Prefect. But here’s the difference: all reports agreed that the people actually were cured.”
“Of course they’re cured!”—Pilate grinned—“else how could the faith healer stay in business? The ‘cures,’ of course, are done in people who never had anything wrong with them in the first place, aside from their minds or overwrought imaginations. Sometimes they’re part of the charlatan’s entourage. The thing is staged. The ‘cripples’ have been hired to hobble by on crutches, which are then thrown away. Or, in cases of real disease, the fever was about to break anyway…coincidence.”
“Yes,” laughed Cornelius. “Wouldn’t you love to expose the fakers by bringing them someone genuinely ill, no, handicapped—say, a person blind from birth—and then see if they could be cured?”
“Yes, that would be a good test.”
Cornelius was silent a moment. Then, slowly, he replied, “Well, this is exactly the kind of thing being done by this prophet: people blind, paralyzed, deaf, dumb—from birth—being given sight, hearing, speech, the use of their limbs.”
Pilate frowned at Cornelius. “I don’t believe it,” he said coolly.
“Well, those are the reports, anyway.” The centurion shrugged. “And there are others.”
“What do you mean?”
“This prophet does more than heal, the people say. He also performs other ‘signs,’ as they call them. One report has it that wine was running low at a wedding, and he transformed one hundred gallons of water into wine. And not just everyday, run-of-the-press vintage, but aged choice Judean Red!”