The Redemption of Pontius Pilate (19 page)

“Leave for where?” Pilate asked.

“Judea. I am appointing you as governor there,” said the Emperor.

“Judea!?” Pilate asked in horror. It was the armpit of the Empire, the worst posting any proconsul could receive.

“Judea is ideal as a place of exile. It is the one place which will put you out of Caligula's immediate reach, while the appointment will also show all of Rome that I am displeased with you,” explained Tiberius. “As Caligula heals, I will try to mitigate his desire for vengeance. In the process, I may have to pretend that I am just as angry with you as he is. But my goal is to eventually enable you to return to Rome without fearing for your life. You have been a loyal friend and client, Lucius Pontius Pilate. You doubtless deserve better than this. But it is the best I can do for now.”

“Doesn't Judea already have a governor?” Pilate asked. “What about Valerius Gratus?”

“Gratus has been begging me to return him to Rome for a year,” said Tiberius. “He has interfered in the local government so many times that all the factions hate him, and the Zealots—you'll need to watch out for those nasty buggers while you're there, by the way—have tried to kill him twice. You will have a chance to make a new start for yourself, and clean up one of the worst provinces in the Empire.”

Pilate groaned. His daughter was ravaged, her innocence stolen by a monster. He had done what any
paterfamilias
in Rome would have done, and now he was being punished. All of his dreams for himself and his family were shattered beyond repair. It was too much!

“Sejanus has chartered a ship for you and your family already. Your personal goods will be delivered from Rome; in the meantime, I have here enough coin to see you set up properly in the governor's home. I need you to be an exemplary governor, Pilate. If you can demonstrate your usefulness, perhaps I will be able to convince Caligula that you are indispensable. But above all, I need you to be gone from here as soon as possible. It grieves an old man to do this, but it must be done. For your sake, for your family's sake, and for the sake of the Empire,” the Emperor concluded.

Pilate sat up and rubbed the knot on the back of his head. “I suppose I have no choice,” he said bitterly. “Let me go to my family. And let me speak plainly—I am barely in control of myself. You had better make sure that little monster is well guarded, because if the sight of my daughter makes me lose control, I may very well kill him!”

Tiberius' face darkened with anger. “If you would see your wife and daughter hurled from the cliffs, touch Caligula again! I have dealt with you as kindly as I could. Do not presume too much on our friendship!”

Pilate wearily got up. “Forgive me, Caesar,” he said. “My heart is broken and my spirit still enraged. I do not understand why you feel that this horrible young man is your only viable choice to be the next Emperor. Rome will bleed because of your decision, mark my words. But you have been kind to me since I was a teenaged
conterburnalis
, and your kindness continues through this horrible situation. For that, I thank you. Now let me go to my family.”

He rose and bowed to the Emperor, then left the room. Sejanus followed behind him, and when they were out of earshot, he grabbed Pilate by the shoulder and turned him around. There was a wolfish grin on the Praetorian commander's face.

“So the mighty Lucius Pontius Pilate has fallen at last!” he sneered. “You do not know how much I have longed for this day. Don't think I did not know that the Emperor wanted to set you up against me! Now I will control him and his heir, and one day my children will rule the Empire!”

Pilate looked at him wearily. “I am sure you think that, Lucius Aelius,” he said. “But do you think Tiberius so foolish? I go to exile, sure enough, but you will go to your grave a traitor before I return to Rome. Now get out of my way. I promised the Emperor not to harm Caligula any further. I made no such promise about you, and frankly, I am longing to kill someone right now!” The beast had returned, staring out through Pilate's eyes, longing to destroy the Praetorian commander.

Sejanus paled and stepped away, and Pilate continued down the corridor to the guest chambers where his family waited. His daughter lay in the bed, eyes closed and covers pulled up to her chin. One eye was blackened and swelled nearly shut, and her bloodied lips were scabbing over. Procula Porcia was seated next to her, gently stroking her brow. An elderly Greek physician stood nearby, and Pilate gestured for him to follow and took him into the hallway.

“How is she?” he said.

“Her nose is broken,” said the physician, “and I have set and splinted her arm. It is a fairly simple fracture that should heal cleanly in a few weeks. There will be a good deal of pain, and I have recommended milk of poppy mixed with mulled wine to help keep it under control. As for her . . . womanhood—well, there was a good deal of tearing and bleeding, but I cannot say if there was permanent damage or not. I have seen young girls who have been assaulted in such a manner that recover fully and go on to marry and have children, and others who never fully recover physically or emotionally. She seems like a strong young lady, and I am sure she will be well cared for, so I would give a hopeful prognosis.”

Pilate nodded. “Can she travel?” he asked.

The physician nodded. “It will be a bit painful, but if you handle her carefully, she should be able to make a journey. She will gain back a bit of strength every day.”

Pilate thanked the man and re-entered the room. His wife stood and came toward him. He tried to embrace her, but she pulled away, glaring at him.

“You knew I never trusted that little monster!” she snapped. “Now look at what your ambitions have done to our daughter!”

Pilate nodded. He could not deny the truth behind her allegations. “I never dreamed it would end so badly,” he said. “For what it is worth, I am sorry. Sorrier than I have ever been for anything in my life.”

“Did you kill him?” she asked. “No one will tell me anything!”

“I was . . . interrupted by a rather sharp blow to the head,” said Pilate. “But he has two broken arms, and no girl will call him handsome for some time. I intended to make a eunuch out of him, but I was stopped short of that goal.”

Porcia finally stepped to his side and touched the knot on the back of his head. He winced.

“It does not look too bad,” she said. “I have seen you come home from the Suburba with worse.”

Pilate smiled ruefully. “Back in my younger, wilder days, eh? All that is behind us now. We must leave this place at first light, so let us pack up quickly. Send for Democles and the other servants to remove all our effects to the ship.”

She nodded. “Porcia will heal more quickly at home, away from the horrible memories of this place,” she said.

“That might be true,” Pilate replied, “but we are not going home.”

She looked at him incredulously. “What do you mean?” she said. “Our daughter is too grievously injured to travel anywhere else!”

“That no longer matters,” he said. “The Emperor has decided, for our safety, that I must be sent far, far away, and that you must come with me.”

“For our safety?” she said. “Safety from what?”

“From who, you mean!” said Pilate. “The heir to the Imperial throne lies in a bedroom nearby with two broken arms and a smashed face that I gave him. I doubt little Gaius is going to tearfully realize the error of his ways and cry pardon! So Tiberius sends us far, far away to Judea, and hopefully young Gaius, by the time he is Emperor Gaius Caligula, will have forgotten this episode.”

Procula Porcia's face slowly crumbled into tears. “So no matter how barbarically he acted, it is we who must be punished for his crimes!” she exclaimed. “Why on earth does Tiberius insist that such a worm must be his heir?”

“That I do not know,” said Pilate. “I begged him to change his mind and name someone else, but he feels trapped into following through with his current course of action. I have a feeling that young Caligula is going to be an absolute disaster, but Tiberius no longer listens to me. So our only choice is to take our daughter and go to Judea. I have been appointed governor there, so at least it is not a punitive exile.”

“Judea!” she said. “We both know that vile little province is a dumping ground for Senators too incompetent to be trusted with the governorship of somewhere important!”

“That is why I am being sent there,” said Pilate. “It is my punishment, my place of atonement. Tiberius thinks if he makes a show of being angry with me, it will be easier later on to make Caligula forget my offense.”

She snarled. “I wish you had killed the little
culus
!!” she snapped.

“Such language, dear!” Pilate said. “Where did you learn such a horrible word?”

She gave a tiny smile, her first since their daughter's attack. “You don't live in the Aventine for so many years and not pick up a little of the local lingo,” she said.

“
Tata
?” came a tiny voice. Pilate looked at the bed and saw that Porcia Minor was awake, looking at him with her one good eye. The other was barely visible beneath the purplish swelling. Pilate rushed to her bedside.

“I am here, my little sparrow,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

“I hurt,” she said. “Everything hurts, especially . . . down there.” She gestured at her hips.

His fury boiled up white-hot within him, but he suppressed it. “I am so sorry for what he did to you,” he said. “He will not be hurting anyone else for a good long while, if that is any comfort.”

“Did you kill him?” she asked. “I shouldn't say so, but I hope that you did!”

Pilate sighed. “No,” he said, “they interrupted me before I could finish. But your broken arm and smashed face are repaid double! Now, let me give you something to take the pain away.” A flagon of sweet wine had been set near enough to the charcoal brazier to be nicely warmed, and he poured her a cup and added a few drops of the milk of poppy to it. He held it up to her bruised, cracked lips and she took a few sips.

“Tastes funny,” she said.

“It will help you sleep, and numb the pain,” said Porcia Major. “And tomorrow
tata
is taking us far, far away, where you will never have to look on the face of Gaius Caligula again.”

“That will be nice,” said Porcia in a very soft voice. Moments later her eyes closed, and her breathing became deep and regular.

Meanwhile, Democles had arrived and was hovering at the door. Pilate gave instructions for all their personal goods to be packed away and loaded onto the ship the Emperor had chartered for them, and for the family to be woken an hour before dawn. Then he and his wife lay down on either side of their bruised and broken daughter and tried to sleep, but their thoughts and memories ran through their minds for hours to follow, and sleep eluded them both.

It was still quite dark when Democles woke them—or at least, got them out of bed. A litter had been prepared for Porcia Minor. The drug she had taken made her so groggy she barely whimpered as he lifted her from the bed and placed her in the litter and covered her with blankets. He and Porcia donned clean robes and their sandals, and Pilate ordered that his sword and dagger be brought to him and strapped them on. He would not go unarmed in the future, he decided. The walk down the mountain trail was very quiet, as Pilate and his wife were locked in their own thoughts.

The ship Tiberius had chartered for them was fairly large and comfortable. The captain showed them to a cabin which was, if not spacious, at least less cramped than most shipboard accommodations Pilate had used over the years. There was one large bunk bed that two people could fit in if they were fond of each other, and a smaller one off to the side. Pilate carried his daughter to the smaller bunk and laid her there, then paid the litter bearers off and went topside to talk to the captain while Porcia unpacked their personal items.

The captain was a huge Persian named Diomyrus, with arms like oak trees and skin like copper. He bowed when Pilate came topside.

“Journey to Judea this time of year takes two months or so,” he said. “We will take on cargo at Rhegium, and then land at Crete, then straight shot eastward to Joppa. From there, short ride up the coast on horseback to Caesarea. You are to be new governor of Judea, yes?”

Pilate nodded. The captain scowled.

“Bad people, the Jews,” he said. “Invisible gods and their followers cannot be trusted. Our gods—they are made of marble and gold and wood. You can see them, leave offerings at their feet. Our gods laugh and cry and fornicate with mortal women. Our gods are like us! Their god big, invisible. Float in the clouds, demands burnt offerings, does not make love to their women. Who wants a god that does not love fun?”

Pilate filed that away for future reference. He had very little experience with Jews, but knew that their province was home to fewer than half of them. The Greeks had liked them, apparently—there were millions of them living throughout the old Greek dominions, especially in the territory of the Ptolemies. Alexandria, it was said, was home to more Jews than Judea! But the province of Judea was a poor, blighted region whose inhabitants hated Rome with a passion. No governor had yet been able to make the place peaceful and obedient. Pilate decided that he would do his best to make Judea a model province, and so redeem his reputation. It was the best he could make of a bad situation.

When he went below, Porcia Minor was awake and holding her mother's hand. He smiled at her and sat at the foot of her narrow bunk.

“Where are we going,
tata
?” she asked.

“I have been made governor of Judea,” he said. “You and your mother will accompany me to the province.”

“Judea—isn't that a bad place?” she asked.

“It's a difficult province to govern,” said Pilate. “That is why the Emperor is sending me there. I am to get things into shape.”