Free The Painted Messiah by Craig Smith Page B

stood with a look of surprise, his blood poured over the white marble steps. Cornelius ordered him suspended from the palace gate and the two soldiers holding the man began dragging him away - still screaming, for he had not yet expired from his wound. A third soldier went for rope.
    The priests at last were silent.
    A young tribune, pale and stricken by what he had seen, was sent to bring a second interpreter out. Pilate showed the new interpreter his predecessor, now hanging over the road leading into the prefect's palace compound with his guts half-out of his body, and asked him if he thought he could do a better job.
    The man said he hoped as much, and Cornelius explained his duties to him without a glimmer of emotion.
    'Where is Annas?' Pilate asked the priests. The interpreter repeated the question in Greek.
    The Jews consulted quietly with one another, determining their spokesman. He was elected quickly and spoke to Pilate with the respect one shows the emperor's prefect. 'The high priest regrets he is unable to make the long journey to Caesarea Maritima. His age does not permit it, but he hopes soon to meet you when you travel to Jerusalem.'
    'I am not interested in regrets. It is the custom of the high priest to serve Caesar's prefect, not the other way around. You will kindly inform Annas that as his age limits him, he no longer holds his title.'
    'As you wish, sir. May I kindly ask whom you desire to name in his place?'
    Pilate studied the man's expression as the interpreter repeated his acquiescence in Latin. 'Who among you are his sons?'
    They identified themselves. The man they had elected as their spokesman was not among that select group. That made him the one they were willing to sacrifice.
    'And what is your name?'
    'Caiaphas.'
    'Are you a priest, Caiaphas?'
    'We are all priests of the Temple, sir.'
    'What is your relationship to Annas?'
    'I have no familial relationship to him, sir.'
    'Congratulations, my friend. You are the new high priest of the Temple of Jerusalem. Please me, and you shall become the second most powerful man in Judaea. Resist me, and you will envy the death of that unfortunate Syrian hanging at my gate.'
    Hearing these words in Greek, Caiaphas neither blinked nor turned to examine the man whose only crime was to ask the priests to speak in a language he could understand.
    Pilate liked that about his new high priest. He liked the man mightily, in fact. He then surveyed the other priests so he would not forget their faces, the sons of Annas in particular, then turned and walked back into his palace.
    As an afterthought to his meeting with the Jewish priests, Pilate sent for one of the magistrates of longstanding to appear before him. Like the Jewish priests who left the courtyard, the magistrate passed under the corpse of the Syrian without daring to look at the open wound. 'In Caesarea,' Pilate said to the man, 'we hang all the imperial standards, including the imago which bears the bronze head of Tiberius. Is this not true?'
    It was, of course, a matter of demonstrable fact, but the magistrate, who was also a Syrian, could not stop himself from answering lavishly. The standards adorned every public square and every public building. Was there a problem? Pilate asked how the Jews of Caesarea dealt with such an affront to their religion.
    The magistrate grew more circumspect. 'They endure it, Prefect. As you know, their religion—'
    'I should warn you,' Pilate interrupted, 'the last man who tried to explain the Jewish religion to me is hanging at the gates to my courtyard.'
    'Of course, Prefect.'
    'That is your answer? They endure it?'
    'Caesarea is a Roman city, so the Jews adapt. They avert their eyes from the images.'
    'Are you telling me there is not a single image of the emperor in Jerusalem?'
    'Excuse me for saying it, but that would be an outrage, Prefect.'
    'I am not so sure I will. The imperial standards adorn every city in the empire as a matter of law. Every city!'
    'Not