The Kingdom of the Wicked (44 page)

       Panting, Paul stood before the tribune in the guardroom. This officer, close to retirement, weary, too much fat on his jowls, said:

       'Causing a riot, eh? Stirring up trouble. I know you. You're that Egyptian we had trouble with three years ago. Found you out, have they? Saying the wall would come down if you told it to and then you'd march in and take over. Well, they got what was coming to them, but you got away, Egyptian swine, didn't you? Well, now you're for it.'

       'Do I look like an Egyptian? Do I sound like one? I'm a Jew, of Tarsus in Cilicia, citizen of no mean —’

       'Only got your word for it.'

       If you want that crowd quietened down let me speak to them. In the language of the Jews.'

       'That's right, get them to attack this tower. All right, centurion, take him away.'

       'Did it look as if I was ready to lead a mob? It was my blood they were after, not yours. Let me say a few words in Aramaic.'

       'Let him, sir,' the centurion said. 'Seeing what they were doing to him he's got a right to. Let's get that crowd cleared.'

       They led Paul back to the stairs leading up to the tower. He had troops above him and troops below him. The crowd yelled and then grew tired of yelling. They would be glad of inflammatory words; they wanted to be further incensed, being a mob. Paul did not shout. He pitched his voice high and forward and said: 'Men of Jerusalem, listen to me. I am a Jew, born in Tarsus in Cilicia but brought up in this city — instructed according to the strict manner of the faith and the law of our fathers, being zealous for God — just as you are, all of you. I sat at the feet of none other than Gamaliel, the glory of the law. I am a Jew then, but one who heard the voice of the Lord telling me to cease persecuting his saints, the followers of Jesus of Nazareth who is the Christ. For it was said to me: "The God of our fathers has appointed you to know his will, and to see the Righteous One, and to hear a voice from his mouth. Arise, be baptized, wash away your sins, calling on his name." Again, it was said to me: "Depart, for I will send you to bring the word to the Gentiles." I have obeyed the voice of the Lord of our fathers. In what way have I done wrong?'

       It was the word Gentiles that threw oil on to flames become briefly quiescent. It was a filthy word. The mob responded not merely by yelling. They followed some of the more devout of their number and began tearing their clothes, throwing their cloaks in the air, kicking up dust. Paul saw that he had not been discreet; this would not have happened to James. The howl that the Roman troops heard was one they knew well but had not heard lately: it was the growl of colonial disaffection screwed to a rage insentient of blows and the sword. The centurion himself, who stood on the tread beneath Paul, started punching him in the ribs and then kicking him upstairs.

       'This makes no sense,' the tribune said. Paul had no breath. He looked at the blood dripping on to his right hand from a cut from a ringed fist on his right cheek. 'What you said, what I could follow of it, and what they're yelling makes no sense. You'll have to be examined according to Roman law. You know what that means?' Paul shook his head. 'All right. Take him down to the courtyard.'

       In the courtyard they began fixing his wrists with thongs to a chain hanging from a kind of gallows. He saw a couple of soldiers appear lashing the air with flagella, lengths of leather studded with spikes and bits of bone affixed to a wooden handle. To the centurion he said: 'May I speak?'

       'No. Not till after this lot. That's the only way to get at the truth of this business.'

       'I will speak. Is it lawful for you to scourge a man who is uncondemned and is, moreover, a Roman?'

       'You,' the centurion gawped, 'a Roman?'

       'A Roman.'

       The centurion saw his tribune in the far corner of the courtyard, looking at an amendment of standing orders that a clerk had brought. 'Wait here.' Paul humorously indicated his bonds. The two flagellators practised flagellating Paul's still-clothed back, standing well away and letting the boned tip peck at the garment, enjoying the whistle of the leather in the air. The centurion came back with the tribune. The tribune said:

       'The centurion here says that you say you're a Roman.'

       'I am a Roman. The records are in the procuratorial headquarters at Caesarea. You can check. Meanwhile you're breaking the law by binding my hands in this manner. This you will know.'

       'Look, friend,' the tribune said. 'It cost me a pretty penny to buy my Roman citizenship. All right, I know, you can tell I'm a Greek, have I ever denied it? You don't look to me all that rich.'

       'I didn't have to be one of Messalina's customers. I'm Roman born. As I say, check up on it. Meanwhile don't do anything you may regret.'

       The tribune stroked his two blue chins. Then he said to the centurion: 'Untie him. Lock him up for the night. We'll have their priests on to this business in the morning. You know the penalty for beating up a Roman citizen?'

       'I do, sir, I do.' So Paul was untied and led into the castle. The flagellators, thwarted, tried to flagellate a pair of alighting sparrows. Unharmed, they flew off. Paul, from his cell, watched other birds homing to eaves as night fell quickly. They brought him a soldier's meal: dark bread and a piece of rank goatmeat with blood in it. Also wine. He drank the wine, composing letters in his head. It was by virtue of the Roman courier system that they got to their readers, heads of congregations who read them aloud at the love feast or eucharistic service. Put to death therefore whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires, greed, idolatry. Because of these, the wrath of God is coming . . . Husbands, love your wives and do not be harsh with them ... Fathers, do not embitter your children, or they will become discouraged . . . He saw a whole sunlit world of white stone, the odour of camel dung and of decaying figs on the air, and the words were perhaps no more than shaped air. He was growing into middle age, the night air was chill on his total baldness, and he felt that his words were heard but not well understood, that Christ had grown into a legend, that he had been wasting his time. His tents would outlive his preaching. Then he smiled, recognizing certain familiar devils of discouragement which negatively proved that there had been no waste: the devils knew if men did not.

       He thought of his own death, which might not be much longer delayed. If he believed, if he truly believed, then he would carry into a world beyond time the gifts of time, which he sleepily envisaged as an earthenware dish of the dried raisins of Corinth. Not an angel, any more than Christ was. Human but immortal with a kind of purged sensorium. So the pleasures of the next world would be, in a manner, of the senses. Meaning a barrier to the experience of pure spirit, which meant denial of the ultimate vision. Meaning that Christ, also a creature of sense, was barred from merging with the Father. That explained why Father and Son, though consubstantial, were distinct persons. Theology. Life was too short for it, but he foresaw before sleeping men writing long books about the personality of Christ and neglecting the multiple message. The point was that the thing had rooted, message or metaphysics. It could not be willed away, not even by God the Father himself. And God the Father was closer to that damnable unknown god of the Athenians than to the Jehovah to whom he had dedicated his ram and his lambs. He slept.

       He was awakened at dawn to be taken to an emergency session of the Sanhedrin. There was already an energetic crowd around, spitting through the steel cage of his Roman military escort. He was handed over to Temple guards who gratuitously thumped him into the council chamber. The Roman escort waited without, grumbling. Paul looked at the yawning priests and holy laymen as they assembled. He recognized few of them, but he could tell the Sadducees from the Pharisees. The latter had red farmers' faces and gnarled hands; the former had a Roman look. All stood when the chief priest came in. He was new, the successor of Caiaphas, thin and with a look of inner torment, perhaps intestinal. He was given a paper by a clerk. He glanced at it and said:

       'You, Saul of Tarsus, are charged with a serious breach of the Jewish law.' Before he could say more, Paul said:

       'My name is Paul. I admit no breach. Brothers, I have lived before God in all good conscience until this day.' He prepared to say more but the chief priest, to the surprise not only of Paul, struck him with a ringed right hand on the mouth. Paul bled. He was sick of having to bleed all the time. He heard with anger the priest's words:

       'You blasphemer, you have the gall to claim purity of conscience before this holy assembly here met?' Paul snarled:

       'God shall strike you, you whitewashed wall. You stand in judgment on me according to the law and you smite me contrary to the law.'

       A Sadducee arose and said: 'Fellow, you address Ananias the high priest of God. Watch your mouth.' So. A forked name. To the Christians an Ananias was no more than a liar. Paul said:

       'I know what is written: you shall not speak evil of a ruler of the people. But nobody told me he was the high priest. Nor did he behave in a manner befitting a high priest.' Somebody at the back of the assembly guffawed briefly and Ananias looked daggers. Paul gathered that there was little reverence for him except among the wealthier Sadducees. He said boldly: 'I see the disposition of your council. I see Sadducees. I see Zealots. I see Pharisees. What do the Sadducees believe? That there is no resurrection, that death ends all. But the Pharisees accept the hope of the resurrection of the dead. Brothers, I am a Pharisee and the son of a Pharisee. The dead rise as Jesus of Nazareth rose —’

       There was some commotion among the Sadducees. The Zealots spat, and one cried: 'Resurrection of the free Jewish state under God.' A Pharisee somewhat younger than Paul banged on the marble floor with his staff and raised dust. He shouted: 'I smell conspiracy.' Paul did not understand. 'What fault do you find in this man? Go carefully. You cannot always know who you are dealing with.' Then the dissension grew very loud. Another Pharisee arose and yelled over all:

       'We are met to deal with a mere frivolity. I am sick of the hypocrite and the timeserver. He was right when he spoke of a whitewashed wall. Profaner of the sacred office. Greed and rapacity. While we are met let us condemn who should be condemned. Ananias, son of Nedebaeus, admit you take the tithes that should go to the /ow priests. Friend of the Romans, licker of the Emperor's arse.' There was now some very unseemly punching. Ananias trembled, white as a whitewashed wall. Then the outer doors were battered open and the centurion who had accompanied Paul hither came in with troops behind him. He was surprised to see Paul standing aloof from the noise and unhandy fisting. Ananias glowered at the centurion and cried:

       'This is a holy place.'

       'It sounded like it. Come on, you, sir, back to headquarters.' This was to Paul, who nodded and submitted to being caged in by barelegged troops with drawn steel for the march back to the tower. He was howled at by many who did not know why they were howling. He saw Luke and Trophimus, mueh disturbed and shouting what sounded like Courage. James he did not see. Paul was marched back to his cell.

       In a tavern later that day a group of Zealots listened to Amos and Job, the illfavoured visitors from Antioch. The leader of the Zealots was named Jotham, and his hard young face was much scarred with a pox picked up in Samaria. 'So,' Jotham said, 'that's his story, is it? To hell with the kingdom of this world and forget you're a Jew. Get rid of him and that's one enemy out of the way. We have to make a start somewhere. If he's a Roman, as he says he is, then it's a beautiful situation. They won't react, they daren't. Sons of the kingdom kill a Roman citizen. And that's the end of the Nazarenes.'

       'How?' asked a Zealot named Jehoash, a lad of few words.

       'Get the Sanhedrin to have him brought in for another examination. Not the full council, no Pharisees, that can be worked. Stick the knife in then.'

       'Difficult.'

       'Look,' Jotham said fiercely as the serving boy put fresh wine on the table. 'I'm ready to propose an oath on this business. No eating or drinking till it's done. Tell the priests. We curse ourselves till we do it.'

       'Tell Ananias?'

       'Not that lump of goat's dung. Yochanan the disciple of Pinqai.' The Zealots guffawed, but the visitors from Antioch did not understand. If they had thought about the writing of the name they would have seen that Hananiah spelt backwards gave Yochanan. The twenty-fourth psalm of David had the line: 'The temple court cried out "Lift up your heads, 0 ye gates and let Yochanan the son of Narbai and the disciple of Pinqai enter and fill his belly with the divine sacrifices." ' Ananias was noted for his greed. Pinqai suggested pinka, a dish of stewed meat with onions to which the high priest was partial. In some ways the Jews were a subtle people. The boy setting the wine down on the table heard that business about not eating and drinking and was prepared to take it away again, but Jehoash clamped his heavy hand on the crock handle. Presumably the oath was to go into effect tomorrow or the next day. The boy went off.

       The boy left the tavern and ran all the way to the Tower of Antonia. He started to run up the outer stairs but was stopped by a soldier. The soldier was ready at first to push him away, but the lad was very earnest. You had to be careful since that Jew being a Roman citizen business. Best leave decisions to the higher command. The soldier let the boy climb up to the centurion, who had just finished guard inspection on the middle terrace. The boy spoke to the centurion. The centurion took the boy kindly by the hand and led him in to see the military tribune.

       Later that day the military tribune dictated a letter. It took a long time, he had difficulty with the Ciceronian kind of Latin. His amanuensis put his grammar right silently. 'Claudius Lysias, tribune in Jerusalem, to the most excellent governor Felix in Caesarea, greetings and long life. This man was seized by the Jews and was about to be killed by them. I rescued him, having learnt that he is a Roman citizen. Anxious — no, desirous to know the grounds of their accusations, I had their council examine him. He was accused about certain questions of their law, but nothing was laid to his charge worthy of death or even imprisonment. Now it has come to my notice that there is a murderous plot against this man, therefore I send him to you forthwith. I am charging his accusers also to speak against him in your presence. Got that? Usual flowery stuff to end it.'