The Galilean Secret: A Novel (31 page)

CHAPTER FORTY

Roman Times

JUDAS BRACED HIMSELF FOR WHAT HE FEARED WOULD BECOME AN INTERROGATION. Inside the open doors of the praetorium, he glimpsed a brooding Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor of Judea. Judas hurried through the court called the Gabbatha in Hebrew and Aramaic. He thought of how close he was to reaching his goal, and images of a naked Mary Magdalene erupted in his thoughts. She was dancing around his bed, stepping close to caress him and then circling with a “come-hither” gleam in her eye. Another image interrupted—the memory of her anointing and kissing Jesus. That picture throbbed in Judas’ mind, more vivid with each step he took across the polished rectangular stones. Rage blinded him, hot as burning sulfur.
You deserved her, Judas. But she was only toying with you. Leading you on like a cheap whore. She loved Jesus all along. Now they both must suffer.

Pilate offered him hope for revenge. Judas’ heartbeat quickened. He must convince him that Jesus, not Barabbas, had incited the Temple riot. No Roman governor could allow a popular rabbi to call himself the Messiah and lead a revolt. This was treason! A knot formed in Judas’ stomach. If he succeeded in his mission, Pilate would free Barabbas and have Jesus arrested, scourged and crucified. It would break Mary Magdalene’s heart, and Judas would have sweet revenge.

But was that what he wanted? Or did he still want Mary’s love? She had allowed him to sip her love like fine wine, only to withdraw the chalice and leave him craving more. He wished he had never become attracted to her, but now he felt he couldn’t live without her. Still, as much as she had hurt him, he would marry her if given the chance.

But that chance no longer existed.

She and Jesus had trampled his heart and left him cut and bleeding.

There would be consequences.

Judas’ cheeks burned as Lucius Sulla, Pilate’s brawny personal tribune, led him into the praetorium. He scanned the massive pillars, domed ceiling and pink-orange marble walls, comforted by Lucius’ dignified manner. Such a respected soldier wouldn’t arouse suspicions about the thirty-denarii bribe he had accepted to arrange the audience. Lucius approached Pilate and said, “I present Judas Iscariot, Excellency. He has information about that rabbi who has been stirring up hostilities around the city, Jesus of Nazareth.”

The sight of Pontius Pilate disgusted Judas. The firm-jawed governor had brought idolatrous banners into Jerusalem and minted coins that celebrated emperor worship. He had even stolen from the Temple treasury to build an aqueduct and then massacred any Jews who protested. Judas considered Pilate an arrogant and treacherous man. A man who had acted savagely to solidify his power but whose cruelty toward the Jews had caused him trouble with Emperor Tiberius Caesar.

Now Judas needed him.

Seated in a high-backed chair of carved cedar, Pilate squared his broad shoulders and leveled his gaze at Judas. “How do you know the Nazarene?”

Judas admired Pilate’s fine white robe with red piping. He bowed low and decided he must lie to hide his Zealot past. “A friend introduced me, your Excellency.”

“So you are a friend of the Nazarene?”

“No, Honorable Prefect, but I have met him on several occasions and heard him teach.” Judas looked Pilate in the eye and spoke confidently. “I came here because I believe in doing what is right. I fear for the security of Jerusalem.”

Pilate leaned his thickset frame forward to question Judas with flashing dark eyes. “What causes your concern?”

“Jesus claims to be the Messiah, and many believe him. He rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, and they hailed him as their king, the heir to David’s throne.”

Pilate turned to Lucius. “If this is true, the Nazarene could incite another revolt, and it would be worse than the riot at the Temple.”

Before Lucius could respond, Judas said, “Jesus started that riot. It erupted when he tried to throw out the moneychangers.” A shocked expression animated Pilate’s meaty features as Judas continued, “Your soldiers arrested Barabbas and some others, but Jesus and his friends got away. Now they’re planning their next attack—an assault on the Antonia on Passover.”

Pilate stood and gestured angrily at Lucius. “Why was I not told of this? Don’t you have men investigating plots of treason?”

Judas noticed the color draining from Lucius’ round, pockmarked face. The tribune said, “I’ve kept you informed of the Nazarene’s activities as you ordered, Excellency. We’ve known that he has a following, but this is the first I’ve heard of a revolt.”

Pilate began to pace. “We must arrest the Nazarene immediately. I’ll make an example of him, as I have of other Galilean rebels, and as Quintilius Varus did of Judas of Gamla.”

Lucius held up a hand. “With all respect, sire, we must handle this rabbi differently. If you crucify him without the support of the Jews, his friends among them may lead a revolt.”

When Judas heard the word
crucify
, pangs of guilt assaulted him. He wanted Jesus dead, but the horror of crucifixion hadn’t set in until now. Jesus had been his friend and hadn’t hurt him intentionally. Did he really want him to suffer crucifixion? Judas had a sudden impulse to flee the praetorium. Then he remembered Mary Magdalene and how he desired her. How he
deserved
her. The rapture he had felt in her arms in Caesarea Philippi came back to him—her sweet scent, the glint in her depthless eyes, the power of his response to her. But she would never be his. Because of Jesus.

Judas caught a whiff of Pilate’s lemony cologne. The temptation to flee passed as Lucius went on, “You must proceed cautiously, Governor. Discredit Jesus among his own people first and then crucify him.” Lucius paused, his expression turning sober. “With the backing of Caiaphas, you can get rid of the Nazarene and also keep the peace, as the Emperor demands.” Lucius dropped his voice almost to a whisper. “Remember the stakes, sire. If you antagonize the Jews as you have in the past and they rebel, you could be relieved of your command. I advise you to let Caiaphas take the initiative. It may even be to your advantage to publicly appear indecisive in this matter, so that Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin, not you, will be blamed for the crucifixion of a popular rabbi.”

Judas’ thoughts leapt from one scenario to another. He agreed with Lucius. Jesus’ disciples and the crowd that had welcomed him into Jerusalem were fervently behind him. By laying palm branches on the road—a symbol of the Zealots—they had made a political statement. If they channeled their fervor into violence, they might spark the greatest insurrection to date.

Judas felt an infusion of glee. The entanglement of religion and politics was setting a trap for Jesus. Pilate wanted him dead for his own reasons, but to achieve that end, he needed the Sanhedrin. Judas saw where Lucius’ argument was going. Pilate needed to strike a deal with Caiaphas. Only if the high priest brought religious charges against Jesus could Pilate crucify him without inciting a revolt. Since Caiaphas had been outraged by Jesus’ cleansing of the Temple and his messianic claims, the high priest should be willing to cooperate.

But Pilate would need a liaison. And Judas smiled to himself as he realized he was the man for the job. He held his breath and waited for the governor’s response. After a moment of reflection, Pilate said, “I see your point, Lucius. But how can I get to Caiaphas? He won’t meet with a Gentile during Passover. I need someone to win the Sanhedrin’s support for a plan to crucify the Nazarene.”

Judas threw his shoulders back. This was his chance. “I talk well, and I am a Jew who knows Jesus.” Judas drew a breath and measured his words, determined not to raise suspicions by appearing overly eager. “Going to Caiaphas on your behalf is a dangerous assignment, Wise Prefect, but I’m willing to undertake it for the sake of peace.”

Pilate eyed Judas and then turned to Lucius. “Can we trust this man?”

Lucius put a hand on Judas’ shoulder. “He took a risk to come here. That speaks well of his character. With Passover tomorrow, we have no choice but to act.”

“All right,” Pilate said to Judas. “You go to Caiaphas and inform him of my intentions. If he agrees to bring charges against Jesus, tell him to send his Temple police to me. I’ll bolster them with armed soldiers, and you can lead them to make the arrest.” Pilate smiled without warmth. “The high priest will probably welcome the chance to get rid of the Nazarene.”

Judas couldn’t believe his good fortune. His wildest hopes had been surpassed. The hair on the back of his neck bristled with excitement. Pilate’s plan was ingenious. By using the Sanhedrin to set the Jews against Jesus, Pilate could crucify him without being blamed. The entire matter would be interpreted as a Jewish affair. The city would remain at peace, and Pilate’s command would not be threatened.

Judas bowed low. “Thank you for the trust you have placed in me, your Excellency. I promise never to betray it.” As Judas turned to leave, he imagined standing before Caiaphas and his father-in-law Annas. They would be grateful for his courage in coming to them. They might even pay him. All he had to do was fuel the fires of their distrust of Jesus and assure them of Pilate’s backing. His mind raced with possibilities. After Jesus was discredited and crucified, the Jews would look for the true Messiah. Who better to fill this role than the man brave enough to expose the pretender? With Judas’ rise to power, Mary Magdalene would finally be his.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

THE CRAMPED QUARTERS OF PILATE’S PRISON IN THE ANTONIA FORTRESS WERE DAMP, COLD AND STANK OF URINE, MAKING IT IMPOSSIBLE FOR JUDITH TO SLEEP. The scant light of Thursday’s afternoon sun had long since faded, leaving the oversized holding cell in shadows. She sat near the barred door, her hands and feet in chains, straining to see her cellmates, who were mostly asleep. There were more than a dozen of them—a few straggly-haired women, the rest sunken-eyed men. With so many arrests during the Passover preparations, the guards had had to put both sexes together.

Some of the men had taunted her when she first arrived. Already queasy from her pregnancy, Judith felt nauseated at the thought of the men’s lechery; breathing the foul air intensified the feeling. She took comfort that the men’s crimes, like hers, had been nonviolent. Murderers and insurrectionists occupied the cell down the corridor; she could hear them cursing their fate and complaining to the guards. Equally large and overcrowded, both cells had thick iron bars, making escape attempts futile and inflicting impenetrable misery on anyone locked within them.

Judith feared that the Romans might flog her in the morning, yet she doubted that any pain could surpass the torment of her guilt and shame. She had failed everyone who counted on her. Each had expected her to be brave and loyal, whether as sister, daughter, betrothed or friend. Instead, she had been cowardly and selfish, a vain and weak-willed woman whose treachery had exacted its cruel price.

Worst of all, she had failed herself. She could have married Gabriel, a successful merchant, and presided over a respectable household while raising a fine family. Instead she had chosen Dismas and a life of lawlessness and infamy. How could she have been so foolish? The letter revealed why, and Mary Magdalene had explained further: what Judith had called love was really a dangerous dependency. A dependency that got her pregnant.

It was too late. If she had read the letter a few months earlier, perhaps she would have married Gabriel. Then she would be carrying his child, not Dismas’, and the child would have had a future. Now the only future that awaited an unwed mother and her baby was one of poverty and shame. Feeling as if her spirit had been thrown off a cliff into the Dead Sea, she began to weep, her entire body trembling. No one would know she was here if Mary Magdalene hadn’t told her father. Would he find her? And if he did, would he disown her when he learned she was pregnant?

Just then she heard a soldier fumbling with keys. He and another guard entered with a new prisoner in chains. The creak of the door awakened a few of her cellmates, who fell back to sleep as soon as the guards left. The torches outside the door illuminated the new prisoner’s frame. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with an angular face. He appeared young, but his tight-set jaw and the wrinkles around his eyes reflected maturity beyond his years. He stood still, as if praying silently, until he turned toward Judith and asked, “Why are you weeping, my child?”

The question took her aback. It sounded too personal coming from a stranger. But she found the man’s gentle tone disarming. “I’ve never been in prison before. I don’t know what is going to happen to me.”

“If you knew who is speaking to you, you would not weep but rejoice.”

The man sounded so earnest that Judith gasped. “What gets a man thrown into prison so late at night?”

“My only crime was to speak the truth,” the man said, sitting down. “But the Temple leaders would rather cling to their illusions and protect their power than listen.”

She was surprised to hear such reflective words from a petty criminal. Increasingly curious about this man, she said, “I am here because I was
too
truthful.”

The man spoke quietly but with compelling authority. “There must be more to why you are here.”

Judith hesitated; her breathing grew shallow. She was unsure what to say, but the compassion in the stranger’s voice finally convinced her to tell her story. “I stole from a Pharisee. I thought I was taking jewels, but instead the jewelry box contained a letter. I read it and learned about a love that—”

The man held up a shackled hand, cutting her off. “I wrote the letter.”

She drew back in disbelief.

“I am Jesus, the rabbi from Nazareth. I know that your heart is breaking, but if you remember, the letter describes the way to healing.”

She tried to speak, but no words came.

He went on, “I know the burden you carry. Many women have told me of their suffering at the hands of men. I befriended a woman caught in adultery. I helped a woman of Samaria through the pain of her divorces and wounds in love. When a prostitute anointed me at the home of Simon the Pharisee, I embraced rather than condemned her. Men had abused these women, and they felt unclean and lived in prisons of inner torment, worse than this one of Pilate’s. As in the letter, I told them that I came to bring God’s love to the world. When they received this love, they began to love themselves and found a new beginning. What I said to them, I say to you: ‘Come to me, you who labor and are heavily burdened, and I will give you rest.’”

A wave of disbelief washed over Judith. What an extraordinary twist of fate. Humiliated to be in prison, she now saw the harrowing ordeal in a new light. “What you promised those women, I experienced when I read the letter,” she said. “It was as if you were speaking to me. I felt God’s love in your words, and I knew I wanted to follow you. I returned the letter to Nicodemus, and he introduced me to Mary Magdalene. She explained your teachings to me, but I still have many questions.”

Jesus leaned back against the stone wall, his chains clanking on the floor. “Mary Magdalene is very special to me. She will change the world because she has been deeply changed herself.”

Judith raised an arm and wiped the sweat from her face on her tunic. Each ping and rattle of his chains reminded her of how alone she had been in this dank place with its fetid air. “Mary Magdalene told me that you healed her, but I am beyond healing, for I sinned against my betrothed, and now I am carrying his brother’s baby. What hope is there for me?”

Jesus made a gesture of blessing. “Your sins are forgiven, my child.”

She stared at him as her arms and legs became buoyant. Her heavy load had finally been lifted from her, and her heart felt warm. “But I do not deserve to be forgiven.”

Jesus kept one hand raised above her head. “God is like a good shepherd who leaves ninety-nine of his flock to search for one lost sheep. You lost your way in the darkness of your passions, but you are still loved by God, and so is the child in your womb.” He blessed her again and then put his hands down. “My own mother faced the scorn you will face. Trust in me always, and I will help you to overcome.”

Judith nodded silently. The cell, which had been threatening, now felt safe and less confining. She yearned to hear more. “The letter spoke of a new future. How can I find it?”

He moved closer, the shadows cast by the torches outside the door dancing on his face. “In the letter I wrote about a young man who demanded his inheritance from his father and then squandered it in a distant country. He eventually returned home, but rather than punish him, the father embraced him and hosted a lavish party in his honor. Do you remember this story?”

“I remember it.”

“Well, there is more, and what happened next relates to your healing. The older brother was working in the fields when the party began. He heard the music and dancing and got mad. When had the father thrown a party for him? He deserved it more than his loose-living brother! It seemed that his father was playing favorites, so he refused to celebrate. Do you think he was right?”

Judith needed no time to reflect. “Of course. How could he participate in such an injustice?”

Jesus spoke slowly, emphasizing each word. “Your answer shows that you care more about fairness than about healing. God forgives you, Judith, but you must learn to accept his forgiveness, to let down your defenses and
truly
accept it. You are clinging to your guilt and shame to gain power over the past, which you cannot change. There is a voice in you saying, ‘You must be punished for what you did to Gabriel. You must pay for your unwanted pregnancy. You are unworthy of forgiveness.’ It is the voice of the older brother, and you must hear God’s voice forgiving you more powerfully than the voice condemning you. Only then will you be healed, because only then will you forgive yourself.”

Those words made the darkness in the prison glow with light. Judith thought that the bars appeared less strong, the walls less thick and the putrid air no longer made her nauseated. God still loved her. Nothing could change that, not even her worst sins. She must claim God’s love and forgive herself. Not to do so would be the height of ingratitude, even arrogance. “Is this all you expect of me?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No, it is only the beginning. You must keep seeking if you want to find; you must keep knocking if you want the door to be opened. I have come that you may have life and have it abundantly, but you must desire this life each day, each moment.”

She frowned, her stomach clenching with disappointment. “I have been seeking for so long, and look where it has gotten me. I just want to find . . . to find security . . . to find peace, and hope for the future.”

Jesus maintained an earnest, steady voice. “The seeking of which I speak is the only kind that will satisfy your heart’s desire. You must seek
first
the eternal life of God’s kingdom. The kingdom is the pearl of great price, the treasure so valuable that one sells everything in order to attain it. If you make the kingdom your first priority, all good things will come to you. But entering the kingdom is difficult, for wide is the gate and easy the road that leads to destruction, and many take it, but narrow is the gate and hard the road that leads to eternal life, and only a few find it.”

She was quivering with eagerness. “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”

“Become my disciple and surrender completely to God.”

“I have already done this. It happened in my heart while I was reading the letter and heard your voice speaking to me.”

Jesus peered at her through the gray light. “Believing in me is the beginning; you must also seek God’s reign in all areas of your life. If you trust me with your whole heart, you will be able to move mountains.”

Judith reached to touch him, and as he gripped her shackled hands in his, she said, “In the letter, you described the coming of your kingdom on earth. When will this happen and how?”

His tone became somber, his face pale, with a flicker of light from the torches playing off his eyes. “It will happen when I return in the future. Only God knows the day and the hour. Until then, the lost must be found; the broken made whole; the wounded healed.”

She smiled and tightened her grip on his hands. “What does your kingdom require of me?”

“You must live the truths contained in the letter. The day is coming when the rich will share with the poor, the hungry will be filled and the oppressed freed. The world will not be conquered by force but by the greatest of all loves. You must go forth and share the good news.”

Judith was trembling. “How can I do this? I am with child, and I am homeless.”

Jesus stepped back, blessed her again and said, “If the Romans crucify me tomorrow, do not forget this conversation. Trust me, and I will help you share the letter with the entire world. I pray that Gabriel will forgive you, and that you and he will have another chance at love.”

After Jesus finished speaking, Judith saw his eyes close as he rested for a time, his chest rising and falling with the slow, steady cadence of rhythmic breathing. He sat with his back and head against the wall, straight and still, as if anchored in that place but focused on some distant, invisible goal. He appeared so peaceful, so totally gathered within himself, that she grew calm in his presence and she, too, slept.

The peaceful respite ended abruptly with the light of morning. Judith heard the jingling of the guards’ keys; the door was opened, and two soldiers entered. They seized Jesus and led him toward the door. Before leaving, he turned to her and said, “I will love you always.”

When he was gone, she reflected on his urging that she seek his kingdom and try to begin anew with Gabriel. She promised herself to do both if she gained her freedom.

T
he watery light of Friday morning slid through the small barred windows of the cell down the corridor, casting soft shadows over the cramped prisoners. Dismas stood alone in his irons; Barabbas, Gestas and the fourteen other Zealots arrested before him were chained in pairs.
This is our last chance to escape
, Dismas thought, preparing to attack the guards when they approached on their rounds. “The guards will come any moment,” he whispered, gagging from the stench of sweat and urine. “Either we escape or we die.” His eyes were heavy from a sleepless night, his body still aching from the beating at the Temple.

“Prepare for the fight of your life, and may God fight with us.” Dismas took comfort from Barabbas’ voice. Its confident tone brought to mind the man’s gladiator physique, ruddy face and thick beard. This image of strength calmed Dismas.
Barabbas is capable of escaping even a Roman prison.