The Painted Messiah (20 page)
'So you would be the first?'
'Thomas! I would never do something like that.
You're
the one who cut the deal with these people. You can do anything you want. You're an American. You have no tradition! Me, I hired on to work for you. Tell me what you want, and I'll take care of it. You want the painting to disappear in Russia, it disappears! You want it to go to New York, I make sure it gets there.'
'Stealing a painting of Jesus is like dipping into the collection plate at church.'
Marcus shrugged indifferently. 'It happens.'
'It doesn't happen tomorrow.'
'You spent too much time in Switzerland as a young man. I think it rubbed off on you.' Marcus seemed vaguely disappointed, nothing more.
'Are we set for tomorrow?'
'I'll have two people across the river on one of the rooftops. If anything unexpected happens outside the bank, they're instructed to take care of it without consulting me.'
'Rubber bullets?'
Marcus nodded. 'Live ammunition for backup.'
'I'm going to need someone on the train with me . . . and a vest.'
Marcus seemed curious at this change in the plan, but he didn't say anything about it. 'I have just the guy, but he is pricy.'
'He worth it?'
'Let us hope you don't have to find out.'
Malloy passed another stack of bills under the table.
Marcus took the money without counting it. 'Someone will drop a vest off at the hotel before you go to the bank. Anything else?'
Malloy hesitated. He wasn't sure he wanted to bring this up, but it had been nagging him since his meeting with the contessa. 'You think I've lost my edge?'
Marcus gave a casual shrug of his thin shoulders. He kept his gaze locked on the room. 'People get older.'
'You're not answering my question.'
'I don't think it matters tomorrow. It's not like we're going to kill someone or steal the Mona Lisa. I mean, we're moving a piece of wood across town!'
'I got a tip. I don't know how good it is, but I think there could be trouble - quite a bit of it, actually.'
'We can change the plan if you want.'
Malloy had considered it. It would be easy enough to disappear once he left the bank and then show up in New York, the painting carried by one of Marcus's people, but Whitefield's diplomatic pouch was a one hundred percent play against chance discovery by the customs authorities in both Zürich and New York. No other plan gave him that kind of protection.
'Let's stay with the plan, but we keep our heads up.'
AD 26-27.
Jerusalem was nothing like Caesarea. Caesarea was a modern city born of imperial power. Jerusalem was inestimably old. Only the great Temple of Solomon, the tower of Antonia, and the palace of Herod were essentially modern. Beyond this small precinct of Judaeo-Roman architecture there was little of note for a foreigner to enjoy. Even the great structures Herod had refurbished in the Roman style lacked all manner of sculpture, so did not seem Roman at all. Arches and columns, acanthus leaves, ionic scrolls, Corinthian medallions, none of it was really Roman without the images of gods to finish the effect. Nor could the celebrated opulence of the East offer anything by way of recompense.
After a time, a sense of emptiness, one might almost say sterility, began to wear away at Pilate. He was expected to spend his winter in this dense, stinking, unwelcoming city, but he was ready to leave after only a few days. He was too good a soldier of course to complain or announce a sudden change of plans for the sake of his or his wife's comfort. So he endured.
There was one moment of amusement for him during that first long winter, a piece of accidental humor on the part of his wife. They had hardly settled in the great palace and were staring down upon the Temple across the great plaza when Procula announced in all innocence that she would love to go inside and have a look about. Could he arrange a tour for her? 'With three or four centuries of soldiers, I suppose,' Pilate answered, 'though I doubt we would ever get out alive.' At her look of confusion, he added, 'We are not welcome beyond the Court of the Gentiles, Procula. The Jews believe a well-bathed Roman might pollute the air and thus offend their God.'
It was not the last time they spoke of the culture of the Jews, of course. In Jerusalem one could not escape it. One saw them every day as they gathered before the Temple, conspiring possibly, worshipping perhaps, running their business inevitably. Soldiers stationed inside the city wore special armor lacking all human and animal insignia. Cohorts kept their standards covered and stored in the great armory above the city on the mountain of Masada. Even the coins Pilate minted were peculiar in all the empire. There were no animals, no human bodies or faces, only pieces of grain for decoration. The Romans conformed so much it seemed Jerusalem ruled Rome and not the other way around.
'Do you like them, sir?'
'It is not my business to like them,' he answered his wife with stately indifference. 'It is my business to govern and to tax.' The truth was Pilate hated them. He felt as if his first encounter over the matter of the
imago
standard had left him looking impotent and foolish and, without really understanding the impulse, he anticipated the next protest as gladiators finally learn to anticipate the arena. It came sooner than he imagined. Without realizing it, Pilate set the thing in motion. It was, even in retrospect, an innocent mistake: unforeseeable to any reasonable person. Like many great catastrophes it began with a new friendship.
Nicodemus was known to all, Roman, Jew, Egyptian, and Syrian, as the wealthiest man in Judaea. He appeared one morning shortly after Pilate had settled into Herod's palace, and begged the favour of meeting the new prefect. Like others of his social status, Nicodemus had made his peace with the Romans when Herod's eldest son, Archaelaus, had very nearly destroyed Jerusalem through his incompetence. He was now an old man with a son, also named Nicodemus, a few years younger than Pilate. Father and son came together.
Nicodemus had sent servants to request an audience with a precious gift for the prefect's wife, a beautiful ruby pendant on a gold chain. As soon as Pilate saw it, he knew what kind of man he was dealing with and set aside his entire morning for the privilege of a meeting. Additionally, he arranged an honour guard within the great hall to greet Nicodemus and his son. Nicodemus took the assembled guard as his due but was wise enough to add to his gifts, offering with many apologies for its flaws an extraordinary cameo ring for Pilate's wife that featured a man and woman holding hands in silhouette. For Pilate he had 'four children of Solomon' waiting in the courtyard.
At Pilate's look of confusion Nicodemus explained that according to legend the ancient king of the Jews destroyed all of the horses in his kingdom, keeping only four mares, from which he intended to breed a race of horses like no other in the world - a desert animal, as tough as a camel, as quick as a gazelle and nearly as smart as the man who rode him! 'So quite naturally we call them the Children of Solomon. Would you care, Excellency, to see the four I have chosen for you?'
'They are truly magnificent!' Pilate exclaimed, as he admired the animals. Their heads were small and fine, the eyes bright and large, the tail high, the legs thin, the temperament fiery - four grey stallions, their thick manes braided with fine-spun gold laced with teardrops of pearls. 'But you must tell me what I can I do for you that is worth a gift of such magnitude?' he added after a moment of mesmerized admiration.
Nicodemus answered with a diplomat's skill: 'I ask nothing but your friendship, if such a thing is not asking too much.'
Nicodemus entertained Pilate and several other dignitaries at his farm on a number of occasions following that afternoon, sometimes letting the banquets carry on for days - Roman style. He did not cease with giving jewellery, always handed to the husband but with a polite mention of Claudia Procula's name. Along with his eldest son, Nicodemus took Pilate on long rides to show him the extent of his property. At times, he would even venture to advise Pilate as how best to govern Jerusalem, if he wished to avoid conflict.
Simple, really. Pilate, he said, needed to understand that he may have replaced the old priest of the Temple with Caiaphas, but Caiaphas had since married one of Annas's daughters, so he was now a son-in-law. 'As such, Caiaphas commands Jerusalem according to the will of his father-in-law.' The older man smiled at Pilate's consternation. 'Do not imagine,' he added, 'you can appoint another and have anything for your trouble but another marriage. The Roman prefect appoints the priest, but the priest invariably serves the Temple, which belongs to the Sadducees. Keep this thought in mind, as well. When you quarrel with the priests, you quarrel with all of Judaea. When you negotiate successfully with them, then you have negotiated with all of Judaea. Since it will cost you to defy their wishes, it should cost them when you acquiesce. They have the money. They have a great deal, in fact. It is the wise prefect who manages to get them to spend it to his advantage.'
On one of their rides, Nicodemus took Pilate to an arid tract of land and announced that he had acquired it quite recently for a good price. 'Virtually useless most of the year,' Nicodemus observed good-naturedly, 'it is adequate for pasturing goats in early spring. Of course most of them will be killed when the floods come through, but it is a beautiful piece of land otherwise, is it not?'
'Why would you buy such property, Nicodemus?' Pilate asked in astonishment, for it
was
beautiful, as deserts often were, but utterly useless.
Nicodemus' son answered for his father, 'It wants only water to change everything. A spur from the city's aqueduct could be run out here and this land would feed all of Jerusalem with its yield.'
'More than that. If we had water . . .' Nicodemus began wistfully.
Pilate considered the consequences in Rome of such a project. Tiberius was cruel by necessity; parsimonious by nature. Were he to discover that his prefect had diverted imperial tax money for a project such as this, Pilate would be lucky to escape with his life. He was therefore silent, seemingly a man incapable of understanding what was being asked of him.
'Paying for it,' Nicodemus added thoughtfully, as if comprehending his friend's hesitation, 'that is the real problem.'
'There's enough money in the Temple to build twenty aqueducts, Father,' Nicodemus the younger said.
'No question about that, my son,' Nicodemus answered with the same thoughtfulness, 'but getting them to release the funds is another matter entirely.'
'Perhaps I could speak to Caiaphas,' Pilate answered reluctantly. 'Land such as this - it seems a waste not to make it fertile.'
'Caiaphas will resist you unless you give him what he desires, Prefect.'
'And what is that, Nicodemus?'
Nicodemus smiled. 'What all priests desire, Excellency.'
Caiaphas hesitated when Pilate spoke to him, because, he said, he was not sure money was available. Pilate answered smoothly, having anticipated the objection. 'And there is one additional problem to consider.' The high priest waited expectantly.
'I would need to depend upon you to keep the peace in Jerusalem, as I would be forced to deploy all of my troops from the city for a year or more. In fact, I doubt I would be able to spend even a week in Jerusalem next year if we were to undertake the project. Of course I would make my soldiers available in case of emergency but otherwise, you would have to assume the entire burden of securing the city.'
Caiaphas was not so disingenuous that his eyes did not glisten at the prospect of ridding Jerusalem of the hated legions and taking credit for it in the process, but he repeated his ritualized hesitation. He must speak to the other priests about the matter. 'Have you an estimate of the necessary costs?'
Pilate presented the estimates. A few days later the gold was delivered into his treasury. That completed, Pilate ordered the majority of his troops out of Jerusalem to begin construction, and departed with the rest for Caesarea, a much wealthier man than when he had left it.
The first sign of trouble came later that spring when a protest erupted spontaneously in front of the empty palace of Herod over the matter of the aqueduct spur. Its shadow, the protestors announced, fell across a Jewish cemetery. Pilate could hardly believe it when he received Caiaphas's report of rioting. Attempting to settle feelings that had undoubtedly got out of hand, Pilate wrote to the priest to say that when the sun had changed its position following the spring equinox, the shadow would undoubtedly change as well. The next letter was more urgent. Rioters had broken into the palace, destroying a great deal of property. The aqueduct, they said, must come down or all of Jerusalem would burn.
Pilate ordered his most trusted cohort from the Fretensis Legion into the city disguised as part of the indigenous population. He likewise ordered his Syrian cavalry into the city in the costume of civilians. Finally, he summoned an honour guard under the command of Cornelius and proceeded to Jerusalem. His letter anticipated his arrival by less than forty-eight hours and promised a meeting with any of the population who wished to discuss the matter of the aqueduct with him. Arriving late in the evening, Pilate found most of the palace uninhabitable, or declared it such at any rate, and arranged to meet with those citizens who were concerned about the construction of the aqueduct in the great square before the Temple.