Caligula shot a glance at Pilate and rasped, “Oh, it’s you, Prefect. Yes. Once I told you that you didn’t use enough diplomacy on the Jews. Now I tell you that you used too much! That hateful, rebellious, stiff-necked people have just committed treason and heresy and apostasy in Judea! Tell him, Apelles.”
“You know that sleepy little town of Jamnia in Palestine?” the actor asked Pilate. “The one near the Mediterranean coast?”
“Yes,” Pilate responded cautiously.
“The gentile citizens of Jamnia erected a brick altar to our emperor’s divinity in honor of his recent victories in Germany. But the Jews in town promptly tore it down.”
“Yes,” Caligula snarled, “they overturned it, destroyed it completely! An altar erected to me, to my divinity!”
“Majesty,” said Pilate, “isn’t Herennius Capito our procurator there?”
“He’s the one who just wrote me the horrible details. Here. Read his letter.”
Pilate did as directed. Then it occurred to him why Apelles was there. The actor came from Ascalon, which lay very near Jamnia. He and Helicon had probably filled the emperor with additional anti-Semitism to feed his flaming ire at Capito’s letter.
“Now,” Caligula continued, “as former prefect of Judea, tell me what I should do to punish the Jews for this atrocity, this unbelievable sacrilege. Helicon here and Apelles have made their suggestions. Let’s hear yours.”
Despite the extreme danger, Pilate could not resist asking, “Excellency, might it not be advisable to consult King Agrippa? I understand he’s presently in Rome.”
Caligula glared at Pilate with his vacuous gray eyes. Then he snapped, “At times like this I rejoice in the fact that my dear Agrippa is only one-quarter Jew and three-quarters Idumaean. I might discuss this with him later if I feel he can give me an objective answer. I’m not sure he can. But don’t evade my question! I’m talking to you, Pilate, not Agrippa. You. What would you do to chastise the Jews for this horrendous act?”
“First I would try to identify the perpetrators.”
“Dolt! The perpetrators were Jews!”
“Yes, but which Jews? Capito should find those guilty and punish them. After that he should warn the leaders of the synagogue in Jamnia against any further attempts on the altar and assess them the cost of its reconstruction. Several Roman auxiliaries might also be stationed there to guard the sacred precincts.”
“That’s all you would do?”
“It would seem to be an effective—”
“That’s all you would do?” he screamed. “No wonder the Jews rode roughshod over you in Judea!”
Pilate shuddered at the change which had come over the princeps since their last meeting. Caligula was unable to remain in one place or keep his eyes fixed at anything for longer than a few moments. He romped about his private quarters like a claustrophobic tiger.
“Well, Pusillanimous Pilate, I’ll tell you what your emperor and god is going to do. Helicon and Apelles here think it’s a fine idea. I’m going to have a colossal statue of myself erected in Palestine. And where do you suppose?”
“In Jamnia, Majesty?”
“No, Fool! In Jerusalem itself. Ahahaha! What do you think of that? And more than Jerusalem,” he simpered. “The statue to my divinity will be erected…in what they call the Holy of Holies, in the Jewish temple itself! That should teach them.”
Pilate was now certain that Caligula was insane. Jews, hypersensitive to images, now tolerating Caligula’s statue in their temple? It would be an unthinkably appalling violation of their most cardinal laws against idolatry, Pilate knew, and would render the entire temple useless for future worship. No ritual purification could eliminate such a desecration. He recalled a little contest staged by his troops after the Jews had protested their standards. The best answer was sought to the question, “What is the most unholy combination of things that can be done to offend a Jew?” The winning reply was this: have an uncircumcised gentile sell blood sausage from a strangled pig on the Sabbath Day in the forbidden courts of the temple. A Samaritan had concocted it, a unique combination of dreadful violations of Hebrew law. But now there was a new winner: Caligula’s plan made the Samaritan’s look pious by comparison.
As diplomatically as he could, Pilate explained to Caligula how the statue scheme would represent the ultimate abomination for Judaism, the supreme sacrilege; that the people would never, under any circumstances, tolerate it. He had to tell the truth; otherwise, when Caligula’s plan miscarried later on, it would be the worse for him. But now, when he saw the imperial eyes widening in rage, he quickly shifted to another tack. “You should know, Majesty, that the Judeans may be a recalcitrant people, but not a day passes without public sacrifices being offered up at their temple in your behalf.” Pilate labored the point, for he thought it might be the one hope of sidetracking the emperor from his fantastic intention.
Caligula glowered at Pilate, his lips quivering. All color drained from his face. For some moments he was unable to speak but for assorted animal-like noises. Pilate was terrified.
Finally, Caligula violently cleared his throat and found his tongue. “I…didn’t…ask…for…your…objections, Pilate. Only your suggestions, but you have no suggestions worth anything.” He walked over and locked his eyes onto Pilate’s, their faces just inches apart. “Now I want to know just one more thing from you. Concentrate, Peculiar Pilate, you may yet furnish me one normal answer…What will really happen when my statue is erected? You see, Petronius will come down from Syria with two legions to do the job, so there’s no question about whether or not the statue will go up. But how long will it take the Jews to learn their lesson and accept my deity?”
Pilate now realized his life was at stake. He guarded every syllable: “If you order the statue erected, Majesty, it will certainly be erected.”
“That’s better, Pilate.” Caligula smirked. “The Jews will allow it, then?”
“Of course. They’d have to. How could women and children halt your legions?”
Caligula scowled. “What about the men?”
“They would all have been killed or taken prisoner in defending the purity of their temple.”
“You mean their silly belief in one god is that strong? No race is so fanatic about religion. When ten thousand Roman legionaries arrive, watch how quickly they change their minds! You are a fool, Pilate, and you’ve given me nothing but foolish answers. Guards! Guards!” he cried, clapping his hands as several praetorians came into view. “Arrest this man! Seize him!”
Frigid perspiration broke out on Pilate’s brow. He suddenly gambled all on the precarious assumption that Caligula’s fury was a matter of the moment, that if he could stall a bit he might yet surmount the crisis.
“Majesty”—Pilate smiled serenely—“I thought you and Jupiter Capitoline were on close terms.”
“We are.”
“Well, last night the great Olympian Father of the Gods came to me in my sleep and told me that you, his brother, would summon me to the palace today, and that if I spoke frankly, you would be better served than if I merely told you what you wanted to hear.”
Only a lunatic, at best a fanatic, would have believed the story, but it was enough to make Caligula pause. In that hesitation, Pilate continued his dangerous gambit. “Since I am merely a mortal, Divinity, indulge the fact that I cannot see into the future with your prophetic eye. If your statue stands in the Jerusalem temple, the mistaken opinion of one, Pontius Pilatus, will be the necessary foil against which your sovereign wisdom will shine all the brighter.”