“Jesus is already dead?”
“Yes,” said Joseph, lowering his eyes, for he did not want to betray emotion in front of the prefect.
“When did he die?”
“Shortly after the ninth hour. At the time of the earthquake.”
“But men don’t die on the cross that quickly.”
“If you will pardon, Excellency, very little about this crucifixion was normal.”
“True. But after the great rebellion under Spartacus, it took days, not hours, for his men to die on their crosses along the Appian Way…Are the other two still alive?”
“They were when I left.”
“Did Jesus say anything before he died?”
“Yes, something quite loudly, which surprised us since we thought he was unconscious. ‘It is accomplished,’ he said. ‘Father, into thy hands I commit my spirit.’ With that he died.” Joseph looked down for a moment, then resumed, “The bystanders were already frightened by the intense darkness, but when the earth shook they ran back into the city terrified. Even your centurion was struck by it. He looked up at the body of Jesus and said, ‘Truly this man was a son of God.’”
Brushing his hand slowly across his brow, Pilate asked, “Was he, Councilor? Was he a ‘son of God’?” and before Joseph could reply he continued, “Then why would he choose to die? And on a cross. What kind of divinity is that?”
He saw his execution squad returning and asked the men, “Did you break their legs?”
“Yes,” the centurion replied. “They’re all dead now. But we didn’t have to smash the prophet’s legs. He had already died. Just to make sure, though, one of the men shoved a lance into his side. He was quite dead.”
“Tell me what happened, Centurion.”
Still shaken from his afternoon at Golgotha, the officer gave Pilate a full briefing. He reported confiscating the prisoners’ clothing, as was their legal right, then shaking dice for the prophet’s seamless tunic, which the centurion won…Jesus asking his “Father” to forgive them, whoever “them” was…offering the crucified the usual drugged, narcotic wine, but the prophet’s refusal to take any…Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin waiting in vain for the man to recant so that they could absolve him and let him die a blessed death…the strange conduct of the bandits, one mocking him; the other asking his blessing…bystanders challenging him to use his touted supernatural powers to climb down from the cross…the eerie darkness…Jesus’ farewell messages to his mother and several followers who were there…the troops giving Jesus a little posca via saturated sponge on a reed…and then his death and the frightening earthquake. “It almost seemed as if the gods were angry, Prefect,” the centurion declared. “Whom did we crucify?”
During the narration, Joseph of Arimathea was trying to attract Pilate’s attention. Finally he succeeded. “Oh yes, Councilor,” Pilate turned to him. “Sorry to have kept you waiting. You may bury the body of Jesus.”
At the temple, meanwhile, the busiest afternoon of the year was concluding. Townspeople and pilgrims alike had converged on the sanctuary in order to have their Passover lambs slaughtered according to sacred ritual, and this had greatly reduced the crowd which might otherwise have thronged Golgotha to witness Jesus’ crucifixion. Indeed, Caiaphas and members of the Sanhedrin had left Skull Place by 1:00 P.M. in order to conduct the Passover preparatory liturgy at the temple and supervise the sacrifice of lambs.
The ceremonial had not gone well that afternoon. The sudden darkness frightened the worshipers, and the earthquake, while not causing any loss of life, had still terrified the people. The worst news was shielded from them: the large fissure from the quake had torn in two the sacred curtains which screened off the Holy of Holies from the rest of the temple. The portent was so terrible that the priests did not try to interpret its significance, except for Rabbi Zadok, who resumed his intermittent forty-year fast for the safety of Jerusalem. However, since most worshipers were in the outer courts and did not see the damage, no panic resulted.
The ritual now ended with a final sacrifice of three official lambs. Caiaphas, resplendent in his robes of office with gleaming breastplate and sacred ephod, presided over the ceremony, assisted by three Levites. The animals were unblemished specimens, and their throats were cut in a single stroke. There was no anguished bleating, just the sound of blood dripping into golden vessels. When enough was collected, the incarnadine was splashed onto a sacred stone. The victims were then flayed and the viscera carefully examined. In Rome, augurs would have determined the future from such probing; here it was only to authenticate that the lambs had been in perfect health, for nothing less than flawless sacrifices were offered to God. The lambs proved physically impeccable, the ceremony successful. The people returned to their homes, where the Seder was in final preparation.
Procula felt well enough to join Pilate for dinner that evening, but her taciturnity cued him that she was informed of the day’s events. Pilate was equally silent, not looking forward to the criticism from his wife he fully expected.
“Procula,” he finally ventured, “why did you send that note out to the tribunal today? What sort of dream did you have?”
After she described her nightmare, Pilate laughed. “But there is some truth to it. I was trying to free Jesus. And I was almost tempted to have Caiaphas crucified instead. Then the people really would have lynched me!”
Slowly she raised her eyes to his and transfixed him with a chilly stare. “How does it feel, Pilate, to send an innocent man to his death?”
Immediately abandoning his whimsy, he replied, “It’s not that simple, Procula.”
“Was he guilty or innocent?”
“Guilty, as far as the Jews are concerned.”
“And the Romans?”
“Technically guilty of the charge of treason for calling himself king, rex. Remember, ‘king’ is one of the most despised terms in our language. We had seven kings after Rome was founded, but that was enough. And what was the Senate going to debate on the Ides of March? Whether to confer the title of rex on Caesar. It didn’t happen! Even the emperors, with powers greater than any king, never allow themselves to be called by that hateful title.”
“Stop, Pilate. Was Jesus’ kingship intended in any political sense?”
“No…”
“How could you condemn him then?”
“Were you given a full report of the trial? The whole thing, my defense of Jesus throughout—”
“Yes, the centurion told me everything. You were doing so well, Pilate, acting nobly, in fact. I might even have forgiven you for ordering him scourged if I could be sure it was only to win sympathy from the people.”
“It was.”
“Then why did you fail?”
“How fail?” A touch of ire was seeping into his voice.
“Fail the cause of justice. You condemned a man you knew was innocent, the worst thing any judge can do. Freeing a guilty man is far more forgivable than what you’ve done.”
“But—”
“You knew what was just and right. You knew what you should have done.” She now had tears welling in her eyes. “Yet you didn’t have the moral fiber to do it. I…I didn’t know I married a man without spine—”
“Stop it, Procula!” he thundered. “I had to do it. Don’t you understand? If I would have released Jesus—no, the crowd wouldn’t have attacked me as your dream had it—but Jesus would likely have been lynched anyway once we left Jerusalem and our guard was removed. And if I hadn’t given in, another riot would have broken out, shedding far more Jewish blood than that of one visionary prophet. Which would have been worse? Sometimes a little evil is necessary to bring about a greater good.”