I have written my prefects elsewhere in the Empire to conciliate the Jews living under their jurisdiction, and not to disturb their established customs. On the contrary, they are to protect them. The same must certainly apply to the Judean homeland. I herewith charge you to maintain the peace of Judea by disturbing none of the Jewish institutions. Farewell.
Given the Ides of February, A.V.C. 785, in the consulship of I. Gnaeus Domitius and M. F. Camillus Scribonianus
So his first word from Tiberius was a directive in behalf of the Jews—and Pilate could not have been happier or more relieved. The imperial message had not ordered his return to Rome to stand trial for complicity with Sejanus. In fact, the last sentence of the letter nearly implied a reconfirmation of his office.
Possibly, then, Tiberius had forgotten his close association with the fallen prefect. Or had he? There was no commendation for him in these lines, nothing in response to his glowing report for the year 31, so Tiberius might still be in the process of constructing a case against him prior to official recall. In that event, dispatching the golden shield to Capri had been a good bit of timing, even though that gesture alone would hardly avert disaster.
Jerusalem celebrated the Passover of 32 with more joyous fervor than Pilate had ever noted before. The reason was hardly a mystery. The anti-Semite who ranked second in Rome was no more, and pilgrims streaming into Jerusalem from all parts of the Empire were spreading the news about Tiberius’s new conciliatory policy toward Judaism. A special service of thanksgiving saw the vast terraces of the temple submerged under a sea of humanity. Four sons of Herod the Great had come to Jerusalem for the occasion—probably to capitalize on the popular goodwill of the moment, Pilate reasoned.
But he was not above doing the same thing. Calling a conference with Joseph Caiaphas and leaders of the Sanhedrin, he announced the new imperial policy toward Judea, reading them excerpts from Tiberius’s letter. The Jewish authorities were heartened at the dramatic change, and there were tears in the eyes of saintly Rabbi Zadok, who, two years earlier, had begun what became an intermittent forty-year fast for the safety of Jerusalem. At long last, it seemed to them, healing might yet close the inflamed wounds of Judeo-Roman relations. And when, during that Passover, Pilate appeared publicly before the crowds to announce from his tribunal the annual release of a popular prisoner, he was actually cheered by the people. He could scarcely trust his ears.
Just when Pilate’s relations with his subjects were finally improving, a new storm suddenly chilled the atmosphere. The first rumblings had been the report of a crowd advancing on the palace, led, incredibly, by Herod’s four sons.
But it was an orderly demonstration—there were no hoots or shouting—and the leaders of the procession were admitted into the palace when they requested an audience with the prefect.
Pilate came out to the vestibule and saw the tetrarch of Galilee. “Greetings, Antipas,” he began affably. “Have you come to repossess your father’s palace?”
“No, friend”—he smiled—“the Hasmonean palace is quite enough for us. You know my brother Philip the tetrarch.”
“Of course. Congratulations on your marriage to the beautiful Salome, Philip.”
“…and my brother Herod-Philip.”
“Pleased to see you again.” Pilate could hardly refrain from saying instead, “Oh yes, Herodias’s one-time husband, cuckolded by the man introducing you!”
“…and my third brother here you’ve not met. His name is also Herod, my father’s son by Cleopatra of Jerusalem…And several of the chief priests and members of the Sanhedrin have joined us, as you see.”
“You are welcome, gentlemen,” said Pilate, still wondering what had prompted such a visit, reinforced, as it was, by several hundred citizens at the palace gates.
“I wonder if we might be permitted to view the interior of the great reception hall of the palace,” Antipas inquired.
“Of course. This way, gentlemen.”
Pilate conducted the delegation into the hall, now handsomely ornamented with the golden shields. Immediately an animated conversation in Hebrew broke out among the Sanhedrists, while the Herodian brothers said nothing. Pilate could not understand the priests, but they were obviously discussing the shields, since they approached each and examined it carefully. There were sighs, head shaking, and louder Hebrew. Then the priests called the sons of Herod into a huddled consultation, from which Pilate was again excluded. Minutes passed.
Finally Antipas broke out of the group and asked, “How long have these gilded shields been hanging here in the palace, Prefect?”
“About a week. Why?”
Antipas drew in a long breath and said, “It’s simply that the Jews find the shields offensive, and they—”
“Do you mean that your delegation and all the people outside came to complain about these simple shields?” Pilate snapped, his ire building.
“Yes…”
“How did you all even learn about the shields in the first place?”
“Several of the Jewish palace servants were troubled about them,” replied Rabbi Ananias, “and they inquired if the shields were contrary to our laws. Later, the public learned about the new abominations and—”
“Abominations!” Pilate fumed. “I took extreme care that the shields be fashioned so as not to offend your laws. They represent no living thing in heaven or earth. Or hell, for that matter! Look at them. They have no images, gentlemen. Why the objection?”
Ananias replied with a cool serenity which contrasted with Pilate’s agitation and further infuriated him. “The shields are pagan trophies erected by a foreign power within the walls of our Holy City. Doubtless they also have a sacred significance for you.”
“They have no religious implication whatever!”
“Naturally we have no objection to your honoring the emperor in any way you see fit outside the Holy City. But these engraved shields cannot be tolerated within Jerusalem. In the name of the Sanhedrin and of the Jewish nation, we respectfully request that they be removed as soon as possible.”
“But you misinterpret these ornaments. They bear only the emperor’s name and mine, as the donor. What sacral implications could possibly be involved?”
“Do you deny that the medallions which you tried to introduce into Jerusalem some years ago had religious significance?” Rabbi Alexander interjected.
“How long do you people carry a grudge? How long, I ask you,” Pilate exploded. “Or did you forget that I removed the standards?”
“It’s just this, Prefect,” Philip interposed, trying to play a mediating role. “The people knew that the ensigns had a strong religious significance for the troops, and what is a shield but as much a part of military equipment as standards. How then can the people believe the shields are free of cultic significance?”
“And not only that, Tetrarch Philip,” the illustrious scribe Jochanan ben-Zakkai interjected. “Prefect, are you being entirely honest with us when you say these shields are religiously neutral?”
“Are you daring to impugn my veracity?”
“Certainly not. But does the term ancile mean anything to you?”
Suddenly Pilate caught the significance, though he could not imagine ben-Zakkai learned enough to know of that minute detail from Roman history. At the same time, he could not afford to bluff in case the rabbi knew his ground, so he asked, lamely, “What are you driving at?”
“It was in the era of the early Roman monarchy, during the reign of your King Numa Pompilius. A sacred oval shield, the ancile, supposedly fell from heaven. Your priests declared that the shield guaranteed divine protection for the city of Rome, so it was zealously guarded. Numa was so worried that someone might steal the holy shield that he had eleven others fashioned exactly like it, so that the genuine one could not be distinguished and stolen. The twelve shields were then entrusted to the pagan god Mars and his priests. And Prefect, I find it significant that you also had a plurality of shields prepared…But the meaning of your inscription must now be clear: May Mars guard the emperor and the city of Rome through the sacred shield of Numa! And this paganism in our Holy City!”