St. Pilate

By James McDonnell

St. Pilate is the story of the life and conversion of the Military Prefect of Judea at the time of Jesus Christ -- whom he mercilessly crucified.

We walk with the young, ambitious warrior through his early life and heroic battles against the German tribes of Arminius in the Teutoborg Forest, to becoming the right hand of the presumptive Emperor, Germanicus Ceasar. His trials with the Sanhedrin, Joseph Caiaphas, and the endless messiahs and rebels of Judea give us an insight to the Statesman Pilate. Upon the death of Tiberius and the rise of Caligula, he arranges to be exiled to Gaul where he eventually becomes Procurator of the province of Alpes Cotaie.

Through the influence of his strong willed Gallic wife, Claudia Procla, and his adjutant and best friend, the Centurion Janarius, he is stubbornly dragged into the world of a rouge sect of Jews called Christians.

This is when Pontius Pilate disappears from history and the Christian, Renatus, is born.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James McDonnell
• Release date: Aug 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781636257969

Book preview

St. Pilate

Acts of Pontius Pilate

James McDonnell

Copyright © 2020 by James McDonnell

All rights reserved. Permission by the author is required for reproduction in any form.  Use of excerpts and quotes by book reviewers are granted.

Contact:  James McDonnell at [e-mail]

*  *

* * * *

For Marie

My wife, my muse, my conscience,

my compass through life's storms

and my companion in Paradise

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Also dedicated to

The Father

The Son

&

My

Holy

Ghostwriter

Table of Contents

PART I – THE KNIGHT FROM SAMNIUM

Chapter 1  The Way

Chapter 2  Renatus

Chapter 3  The Warrant

Chapter 4  To The Great Sea

Chapter 5  Juno

Chapter 6  The Young Knight

Chapter 7  Teutoburg Forest

Chapter 8  Janarius the Gaul

Chapter 9  Publius Quinctilius Varus

Chapter 10  Rescue

Chapter 11  Retreat

Chapter 12  The Commission

Chapter 13  Field of Bones

Chapter 14  Arminius the German

Chapter 15  Battle of Brothers

Chapter 16  Still Waters

Chapter 17  Zeno of Armenia

Chapter 18  Germanicus in Antioch

Chapter 19  Piso

Chapter 20  Death of Germanicus

Chapter 21  Pisos March on Syria

Chapter 22  Germanicus' Funeral

Chapter 23  Return to Rome

Chapter 24  Sejanus

Chapter 25  Pilate's Judean Commission

Chapter 26  Creative Fire

Chapter 27  Holy Wind

PART II – THE PREFECT OF JUDEA

Chapter 28  Pilate's Arrival in Ceasarea

Chapter 29  The Palace of Herod

Chapter 30  Valerius Gratus

Chapter 31  Arrival of the Deputation

Chapter 32  Graybeards

Chapter 33  Tribute

Chapter 34  Joseph Caiaphas

Chapter 35  The Standards Incident

Chapter 36  Siege of Ceasarea

Chapter 37  Council of Surrender

Chapter 38  Capitulation of Pilate

Chapter 39  The Aqueduct Question

Chapter 40  Jerusalem

Chapter 41  Janarius' Confession

Chapter 42  Negotiation with Priests

Chapter 43  Temple Tribute

Chapter 44  Reconnaissance

Chapter 45  Reports of Jesus

Chapter 46  Passover

Chapter 47  The Temple Incident

Chapter 48  The Trial of Jesus

Chapter 49  Moses of Samaria

Chapter 50  Leaving Judea

Chapter 51  Pilate Undone

PART III  PILATE'S CONVERSION

Chapter 52  The Port of Syracuse

Chapter 53  Counsel of Claudius

Chapter 54  Audience with Julia

Chapter 55  Exile to Gaul

Chapter 56  Vienne

Chapter 57  The Works of Procla

Chapter 58  Elevation of Pilate

Chapter 59  Christians

Chapter 60  Procla's Passing

Chapter 61  Return of Janarius

Chapter 62  Birth of Renatus

Chapter 63  Three Inns

Chapter 64  Praying With Paul

Chapter 65  Ah, Rome!

Chapter 66  Catacombs

Chapter 67  Pilate's Trial

Chapter 68  Apologia Before Nero

Chapter 69  Darius' Mourning

Chapter 70  Martyrdom of St. Pilate

Chapter 71  Epilogue – The Epistle of St. Pilate

Part I

The Knight from Samnium

Chapter One

The Way

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The twenty-third day of the seventh month in the thirteenth year in the reign of the Emperor Nero.

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The chipped, crumbling stairs that in a previous day had been ornately tiled and painted, now sagged in the middle with wear.  These stones were ancient and traveled along a path that was much older: for the mount they ascended was a holy place.  Christians called this clandestine trail, the Path of the Anchors, for the graffiti-like gouges of anchors, which mark The Way.  Indeed, even the initiates, who gathered to pray and worship in the Church at the top understood these signs.  Their Church, as they called it, a dilapidated and abandoned temple built by the first Romans in dedication to the Cult of Hera, stood atop an even older shrine.  Beneath was a stone altar used by those pagans of the Old Ways countless years before Romans civilized them.  At this place, the old Gaelic kings who could no longer sire progeny became sacrifices.  It was with the spurting still living blood of the king upon the men of the tribe that they determined his successor.  In these days, the trough where the blood of kings ran down the hill became the stairs that pilgrims use to climb the same hill and celebrate the shedding of another king’s blood – The King of kings. 

A wrinkled hand, spotted with age, reached out to touch one of the signs.  The wall was warm from the sun of the early autumn morning.  At the foot of the dust-laden stone stairs, the old man tarried, he had been running and now he leaned against the wall to rest and catch his breath.  His chest heaved as his lungs burned from the exertion and the metallic taste of blood-tinged saliva coated his mouth.  Staring up along the path, towards the top of the long steps that ascended to a bright azure sky, he seemed unsure of himself.

Climbing the stairway would not be a difficult task for a young man or woman, or indeed for the little children who ran past him.  Laughing in their playful exuberance they jumped up the steps two at a time.  One youngster seemed to have snatched a loaf of bread from the baker down the lane and was in the lead of his band of youthful brigands, making a successful escape from the fat, red-faced shopkeeper who could only yell and curse at them through the dust cloud they kicked up.  The bread seemed freshly baked, for he caught a hint of its aroma in the air as they ran by him.  He felt a smile cross his face at the naughtiness of the boys for it brought him back to his own childhood in Samnium where he had pilfered a loaf or two in his youth. 

Sadly, those days were seven decades behind him and his smile vanished as he heard the heavy steps and the metallic rustling of the soldiers’ armor approaching, giving him no choice but to climb the stairs to evade his pursuers.  The old man hastened up the stairs, leading with his staff, pulling along his gimp leg like an unwilling and obstinate child.  Stiffness in his joints further vexed this old war wound.  It changed the stairs before him into a formidable barrier in his plan to escape the auxiliary patrol closing the gap behind him. 

He was no contest for a squad of legionnaire intent upon catching him.  The young athletic captain of the Lugdunum Band called out to him from the bottom of the stairs with a joking lilt to his Gallic colored Latin, for the mere sight of the old man trying escape him was ludicrous.  Wait up, old fellow!  I wish only to speak with you!

When the old man continued shuffling up the stairs unperturbed by the Captain’s orders, another soldier offered, Sometimes these old ones are deaf, sir.

The captain just sighed and jogged up the stairs after the ancient fugitive. Reaching him on his third bound, he grumbled, Why do you carry on running when I ordered you to stop, old man?  A meaty hand on the old man’s shoulder grounded him to the spot and forced him to give up his pointless escape attempt.  The Captain’s temper soothed after swinging the fellow about and finding himself facing an old man’s wrinkled face wearing a fresh, energetic, wide smile.  This man nearing the evening of his life wore a neat, close-cropped white beard, which framed his toothy grin.  The beard ran up the sides of his olive face and into a full head of hair, which seemed white as hoar frost and was worn in the old-fashioned Italian style. 

The old man was a trifle short, but he stood one step above the Captain, at eye level with the officious Gaul.  Bracing his shoulders and straightening his spine, he held his head high, facing up to the soldier.  Standing there in his immaculate white linen toga, he carried himself with the conscious dignity of a scholar or a senator.  His eyes conveyed the amused poise often associated with a man who, through pure instinct, exercised power over other men, such as the soldiers standing before him.  Yet, there was a paternal sweetness and kind humility in the soft brown eyes as he looked at the Captain and said nothing, waiting for the soldier to state his business.

His bearing and posture must have struck the Captain as a man who was accustomed to dealing with subordinates.  The marked difference was in the man’s kind, soft gaze, which the soldier may have remembered seeing in the eyes of his own father.  The Captain lowered his hand and spoke in a voice that was respectful and almost apologetic. Excuse me, grandfather, but are you Pontius Pilate?

The old man answered him clearly and firmly in a way that was assuring, yet respectful, Sir, I am Renatus, an old man visiting from Vienne Allobrogum.

The Captain just nodded with a satisfied smile and made a half-turn to the men he led, saying, Aye, I thought as much.  We have been sent on a fool’s errand!  He returned his gaze to the old man and said aloud for his men to hear him, Everyone knows that Pontius Pilate died years ago.

Old Renatus gently agreed with the Captain, Indeed he did.

With a suddenness that startled both Renatus and the Captain, there came the shrill, cracked sound of an old crone’s voice.  Renatus is his Christian name!  It seemed to rent the very air around them. 

The matron was adorned in the silk stolla and palla, common to women of means from the eastern empire, she leveled a gnarled, bony finger protruding from a liver spotted hand, as if to put a curse on him.  The old woman cried out, I tell you, upon the honor of my house, that man is Pilate!

Peering around the bulk of the Captain, Renatus narrowed his gaze to gain better sight of the woman who accused him of being Pontius Pilate, and who spoke the name with such venom.  He shielded his eyes from the sunlight, and though his advanced age had dimmed his eyesight, causing him to squint, his hearing - despite what the Captain may have believed- was as sharp as his memory.  That voice had traveled across many miles and through as many years to make an accusation against him.  He recognized it all too well.  Herodius?

Chapter Two

Renatus

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Only because he heard it creaking as it moved was Arcellius aware that the guard had swung the door to the common cell open even though he had not seen it stir.  By blinking his eyes, he became more accustomed to the darkness.  This helped him to adjust from the bright daylight outside to the dire darkness within.  Horizontal slotted windows, set high above the floor of the cell, were all he could clearly see.  The torch offered by the jailer helped him to see the figures of men scurrying about in the dark corners like so many wharf rats.  He took the torch in hand, and reaching for the jamb of the door, he steadied himself to keep from tripping over the refuse strewn about on the floor inside the entrance to the cell, about which the guard had warned him.  As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he crossed over the threshold of the cell.  Once inside he stood with the torch extended and searched the cell hoping to locate the man his uncle sent him to retrieve and to be gone.

The common cell was located in the deepest part of the garrison complex housing the Lugdunum Band, a cohort of pale skinned and light haired Gallic auxiliaries led by dark Italian officers.  The cell was so deep down in the complex that, at certain times of the year, rising water tables often flooded it with three to ten inches of water.  This pushed the filth on the cell floor to the surface of the water, which made the prisoners wade through raw sewage to cross the room.  When it subsided, it left an evenly spread layer of slick scum along the walls and the floor.  This made walking hazardous even for one who could see well.  Moving through the cell just disturbed the slime which released the foulest odors – a fetid stench of feces and urine mixed with rotted barley porridge that often fell onto the floor, as well as droppings of rats that came out to claim it.  All of this foulness, plus the smell of men’s bodies in desperate need of bathing, made Arcellius want to leave as soon as possible.  He did not enjoy being here.

Many of the men gathered around under streams of sunlight that came through the high, narrow, barred windows.  The modest light and heat provided by the meager rays gave a momentary respite from the damp chill of the cell.  It was one of the few luxuries afforded to these men as they moved along with the path of the sun’s warming, shifting rays.  This was a part of the prisoners’ daily ritual, which included, eating, sleeping and moaning.  There was no discourse among prisoners because they were all of one mind and shared the common stigma of being members of that outlawed sect of Jews called Christians.  They held this belief in defiance of Nero’s decree banning their illicit and dangerous faith.  Still, it was not as bad for them here in Gaul than it might be if they were in Rome.  After six or seven weeks in this cell, many of these men went home after paying a modest fine.  If a man could not pay the fine, he returned here until a relative, or the members of his church, raise the money.  If no one posted a fine, he became an indentured servant to repay the debt.  The local magistrate preferred to release the Christians so that he could round them up again on next onslaught of the churches and homes where they gathered.  These Christians were becoming a most lucrative source of revenue for the province, and simply killing them was neither logical, nor was it profitable.

Now that Arcellius’s eyes adjusted to the ambient darkness, and his nose had become accustomed to the stench, he scanned the room for the man whom his uncle had sent him to retrieve.  Gathering from the tone and urgency in his uncle’s orders, the man he was here to fetch was someone very special.  Therefore, it made sense to him that this man would be someone who stood apart from the other prisoners.  He searched among a group of men sunning themselves in the beams of light, but did not see the one his uncle described to him as a ‘stately old Roman gentleman’.  In the darkest corner of the cell sat a small group of men too sick or old to compete with the others for the coveted warmth of the sun.  Among them was the prisoner he sought.

Approaching the group of prisoners, he saw that this man was altogether unremarkable and as normal as any other man of his advanced age.  Yet, if the rumors in the barracks were true, this man was indeed extraordinary.  Standing away from the man, he waited and watched him for a brief while.  The old man was dressing another prisoner’s wounds – a local man who had no doubt received his gash in the forearm while resisting arrest.  Arcellius moved closer and watched him remove the old, stained bandage from the man’s arm.  As he lifted it away from the wound, it uncovered a squirming mass of maggots.  At his first sight of the wound, Arcellius placed his free hand over his mouth to stifle his urge to vomit. His movement caught the old man’s attention.

The old fellow looked up at Arcellius without emotion and spoke to him as one of his teachers may well have.  These little creatures work to clean the wound of poisons and dead skin that otherwise might become gangrenous, he explained to Arcellius.  I should think that a soldier such as you would know this.

Arcellius swallowed hard and removed his hand from his mouth.  I am sorry.  I have yet to see combat, he said, with some embarrassment at his reaction to seeing the maggots.

The old man leaned down and tore a strip of cloth from his linen toga, and it was obvious that this was not the first such strip he had removed to make dressings for the other prisoners.  Once a handsomely tailored toga hung from him, but now, smudged with neglect, it was in a shamble from its new use as a source of clean bandages.  I pray that you will serve long in the Legion during times of peace and that you will never have to kill.  No man should desire to see war.

Arcellius asked him, And you?  Have seen war, old man?

Without answering him, the old man raised the sleeve of his tunic revealing a faded SPQR brand burnt into his upper arm, marking him as the property of the Roman Legion for life.  Just above the brand, but not as faded, he saw another mark.  It was a tattoo of the remarkable chi and rho, a familiar symbol among Christians.  These marks were also the proof of his identity that Arcellius was instructed to look for.

He asked the old man, Are you Pontius Pilate?

The old man did not look at him, but continued to prepare the strip of cloth he had ripped from his toga and made it into a quite serviceable field bandage.  He said, Have you not heard?  Pontius Pilate is long dead.  He tied off the bandage in a way that was gentle, but his patient still winced in pain.  My name is Renatus.

With as much of an officious tone as his weak stomach would allow, Arcellius said, What you should choose to call yourself is of no concern to me, for I was sent here by the Governor, Pontillius Marcus, to fetch you and bring you before him.

Renatus looked up at the young soldier and said, I cannot disobey my governor.  He reached for his staff and in great pain, pulled himself to his feet.  I submit myself to your charge.

The younger man who was his patient, now grasped at his hem.  Is it true, Renatus?  Did you look upon the face of our Lord, Jesus?

Renatus, leaning the weight of many years upon the staff that supported him, looked back into the face of the young believer whose eyes were yearning for a sign from him to validate his faith.  Renatus leaned over and said with a gentle, caring voice, In a time when these old eyes saw much more clearly, they gazed upon the face of an unexceptional man who stood before them falsely accused.  These eyes watched as my soldiers crucified Him.  They have wept in remembrance of that sight many times since.  He reached down, took the man’s hand from his hem, and placed it upon his own chest, saying in a soft voice, But this reborn heart weeps with joy, for it has witnessed His glory!

Renatus found in Lucius Arcellius a meek and kind soul so successfully disguised as a soldier: a vocation for which he was ill equipped, for his heart held far too much compassion for others.  This burden meant he might one day hesitate in battle at the prospect of his first kill and he would indeed die.  It became apparent to Renatus that he was more than he appeared, or that he wished to convey to others, when he was kind enough to allow him to take a bath and to change into a clean tunic before being presented to the governor.  Pilate would have certainly never had such empathy, or taken any pity on a prisoner. 

Chapter Three

The Warrant

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The governor’s palazzo was a familiar landmark on the hill overlooking the concourse where the calm and tepid waters of the Saone River ended its journey down from the fertile plains of the north and emptied into the cold rapids of the Rhone River.  This confluence created a great river way that carried on down to the Port of Massilia and emptied into the Great Sea.

The palazzo had changed little in the years since Renatus first met Procurator Marcius upon his arrival in Lugdunum, or when he came here to receive his commission as Procurator of Alpes Cottaie under Lucas.  His reception would be altogether different this day, for upon their arrival the governor’s secretary, a thin, bookish fellow in his waning years, escorted them around the side of the building and into the palace garden.  Renatus presumed that since he was a prisoner, and not worthy to enter the great palace through the main entrance, he would be entering through the slave’s entrance at the rear.  Therefore, he was surprised when the secretary requested that they wait in the garden, then departed from them and went inside the palazzo, leaving them standing alone in the garden. 

Having learned to experience each moment for the joy it held, Renatus took the time to look around and enjoy the garden’s beauty.  It was a lovely re-creation in the style of the grand gardens of Rome.  Pathways sporting low hedgerows, paved with pebbles, skirted by seashells and stones radiated in many directions.  Between these paths grew shrubbery and bushes that hid many other paths behind them.  Therefore, when one came around a corner, a new path that he had not seen before sprang up and surprised him. 

Renatus could see that many of the trees and shrubs came from Italy and were not common to this province or to this cooler climate.  Marius planted taller trees of cypress and pine to function as a windbreak along the boundaries of the garden.  They helped to moderate the brisk winds that came up from the Rhone River valley and turn them into gentle breezes that kept the garden cool.  Even now there was a cool and fragrant breeze diminished only by the mid morning sunlight.

Standing in this magnificent garden on a gentle autumn day, left Renatus with a twinge of melancholy.  His thoughts returned to another time to his own garden and his villa in Laurentum.  In his memory, he once again saw his dear, sweet Procla tending her many strange plants and exotic herbs, which she used for many of her native Gallic cures.

Marius planned his garden well, as the main garden lane led to the veranda of the palazzo, where a black marble staircase and balustrade bore opulent and fragrant, flowering plants.  At the opposing end of the garden from the house stood a knoll of open grass and a pond that reflected the willow tree above it.  Under that tree was a black marble bench on which Pontillius Marius, Governor of the Province of Narbonensis, sat in serene contemplation of his glorious creation.  Marius took justifiable pride in his garden and enjoyed showing it off to all of his visitors.  It was obvious that he did not care who the visitor was, nor did Renatus’ status as a prisoner seem to concern Marius.  Pontillius Marius gestured for Arcellius to come forward with his charge. 

Walking around the pond towards the figure of a man sitting in the shade of the willow tree, Renatus could see his host more clearly now.  Marius was a dignified, older gentleman, not too far away from his own age.  From the poise with which he sat and by his graciousness in inviting Renatus to sit and join him, it was obvious that he came from a noble family.  His frail and delicate features told Renatus that the man did not have a military background and that he was, in all likelihood, a career diplomat. Renatus presumed that this assignment was a gift from the Emperor for a life of dedicated service where he could serve out the remaining years of his life in peace and comfort.  The secretary who had escorted them into the garden was the one who ran the province for him, only disturbing him with the most important matters of state.  The irony of this delegation and the laconic, provincial lifestyle was not lost on Renatus.  In their hubris, Romans so often believe that they were Romanizing these people of Gaul.  In fact, it was the Romans who became Gallic in all ways once they settled here.

Lugundum was not too distant of a provincial capitol, yet it was far enough away from Rome to allow the governor some latitude in his interpretation of any decree coming from the Senate or the Emperor. Under normal conditions, this matter of how to deal with the Christians was one of those edicts open to the governor’s interpretation and his discretion.  Aside from the occasional raids on the churches and homes of the Christians—a move to fatten the government coffers and the pockets of the local officials with the money garnered from fines—there had been little real persecution here in Gaul.  Certainly there was nothing to the scale that it was rumored to be in Rome. One reason Marius gave for his leniency was that most of the Christians here were Gallic and any harassment might have serious repercussions for the Roman authorities, upsetting the long period of peace between Gaul and Rome.  However, Roman Christians were an altogether different matter.

As Renatus approached, Marius smiled and gestured for him to take a seat at the end of the bench.  Come and sit, I wish to speak with you, Marius said, with affable charm.  Arcellius waited on the other side of the pond to allow the two revered old men to chat in private.  Renatus settled his old bones on the cool marble bench and could not help but to marvel at this governor, so revered by the people.  Well known were his reputation for graciousness and his gentility. 

Your garden is a true marvel, Your Excellency, Renatus said, looking around at the view from the bench.

The governor smiled and said, I believe that it is my duty, no, my privilege, having enjoyed so many good years, to leave something of beauty and worth behind for those who will come after me.  He surveyed his garden, and said to Renatus, So, you are the one whom Herodius has been talking about?

Renatus asked Marius, Then you too know Herodius?

A momentary look of annoyance crossed Marius’s face as he gave a short huff.  Sir, one does not know Herodius, one endures Herodius!

Renatus gave a wry smile and a short chuckle.  She does have her ways.

A guise of concern crossed Marius’s face.  Yet, despite her uncanny ability to annoy me into a state of absolute weariness, I have never known her to tell me a deliberate lie.  She came to me and insisted that you are Pontius Pilate, the Procurator of Judea some thirty years back!  Tell me; does she speak the truth?

Renatus stared into the eyes of the old gentleman and answered him, As truthfully as she knows, Excellency.  Many years ago, at the invitation of the Emperor Caligula, we did travel from Rome to Lugdunum together with her husband Herod Antipas, Tetrarch of Galilee.  Nonetheless, the man she knew as Pontius Pilate died in the river many years ago, and in his place I, Renatus, was born of water and the spirit.

Marius nodded perceptively, I may gather that her other charge against you, that of being a Christian, is therefore also true?

It is true, Your Excellency, he said, without hesitation, I cannot deny my faith, nor would I desire to.  I was baptized a Christian in the River Rhone when I was yet the Governor of the Province of Alpes Cottiae,

Marius turned to face Renatus.  I have heard about this regeneration among your sect of Jews and what you call being ‘reborn’.  I do confess to you that I have a curiosity about your faith as well, but I fear that it has far too many rules for an old man like me to learn in his trailing years of life.

Renatus nodded and gave his reply.  You should have no fear of rules, Your Excellency, for as any good Roman will tell you, problems arise not when there are too many rules but rather when there are too few.

Marius listened to Renatus.  He listened to the content of the words he spoke and looked at him, almost as if he were searching for something behind the man’s eyes: the truth perhaps?  And what rule does Renatus live by?

Renatus said, in a plain way, There are only two rules that a Christian must obey: Love God and love others; treating everyone that you meet – your enemies in particular – as you would want them to treat you.  These are the only two rules with which we need to concern ourselves.  In them can be found the essence of all that is good.

It is a noble and admirable philosophy; a simple and good law, if only men would obey it, Marius said.

Renatus looked in the direction of the house and saw Marius’s secretary, the same man who showed them into the garden, approaching with a leather courier’s envelope.  It was a case that he at once recognized from back in the days when he was the Prefect of Judea and later the Governor of Alpes Cottiae.  He had received and dispatched many official documents in envelopes such as this one.

Marius motioned his secretary to approach, Do you know, Renatus, that if your fate were left in my hands, I would simply let you pay a fine and give you the good advice to return to Vienne and live out your years in quiet solitude.  His secretary took a letter from the pouch and handed to Marius.  After giving the letter a brief glance, Marius handed it to Renatus.  If you would please read this.

He recognized the document before he even took it in his hands.  He had seen such a certificate many times before.  It was a warrant of arrest from the Senate with his name written upon it.  Reading further he found that the charges laid against him were sedition, atheism and high treason.  It instructed the governor that he was to be detained for immediate repatriation to Rome to face a Senate tribunal.

Marius’s face was apprehensive and cheerless as he watched Renatus read the document.  Though I find this action for my part distasteful, a governor cannot question his Emperor, nor a warrant from the Senate.  For I am as bound to the laws of Rome as you are to the laws of your God.  He sighed with sadness, Since the conflagration of Rome, Nero’s decree has made being associated with the sect of Jews called Christians a crime against the state.  The charge of high treason is only leveled against prominent Roman Christians, the ones whom they deem to be leaders of the sect.

Renatus handed the warrant back to Marius, and said in an amused tone, I am flattered that they think of me as a prominent Christian.

Marius took the letter back and looked at Renatus with utmost seriousness.  You seem to misjudge the enormity of the state of affairs you are caught up in.  Certainly you must see that this warrant gives me no choice but to send you to Rome. 

Renatus thought about it and said, Which is a good thing.

Marius looked at him as if the man were crazy.  You must realize that once you are in Rome you will face the tribunal and in all probability be judged and found guilty!  How can that be a good thing, man?

Renatus looked at Marius with a gleam in his eye. For I now know the reason God has given me all these years when he should have long ago condemned me.  He sends me to Rome to bring the gospel to Nero and the Senate.  Oh, how glorious it is that he has selected me, the vilest creature that killed his Son, to be the bearer of His message!

Marius shook his head and said, What they say about you Christians is true: You are all mad!  You do understand that you will most likely be executed.

Your Excellency, I am well past the age of caring about the judgment of others.  How many more years would I have left anyway?  I am sure that I deserve execution for I have killed men without mercy over the course of my life and I deserve treatment that is no more lenient.  As for the opportunity to reach the Senate and Nero – the soul of Rome – on behalf of Jesus, if even for the briefest moment, I will face such a penance with joy!

Marius gazed at Renatus, and said in a reserved voice, I think that I should tear this up and send word that you are insane and cannot stand trial.

When do I depart? Renatus asked, with exuberance.

Marius raised his eyebrows and shrugged before pointing in the direction of the soldier who pulled him from the cell.  Arcellius will take you by barge to the Port of Massila.  From there, you will go to Rome.  He is a bright and capable lad, the son of my sister.  I have given him orders that he is to escort you to Rome and to stay by your side until all of your affairs are resolved: one way or the other.  He will help you get your affairs in order and you will sail on the morrow.

Renatus rose to take his leave and stopped to ask one last thing, May my secretary, Darius, also come with me?  He has many tomes and letters about my life that may provide a case for me.

Marius stood and looked at Renatus.  Well, I see no reason why not. After all, I would be remiss not to extend such a courtesy to a peer.  Would I not... Pilate?

Chapter Four

To the Great Sea

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Fog shrouded the barge in a gray pall, making it difficult to see the boat from the docks.  Only the bobbing and swaying of the gangplank was evidence that there was something in the water on the other end.  The chill of the early morning at the end of the fourth watch and the damp air made Renatus’ joints fuse, threatening to turn him into a statue that his guards would have to carry aboard.  Arcellius found a crate for him to sit upon until they were ready to board the barge. Even the coarse, thick robe, which Renatus coveted beyond all of his human possessions, beaded with dewdrops and was little protection from the moisture that seeped through to his skin. Yet, the dampness did not seem to trouble Renatus as he sat in prayer. He enjoys the aroma of the freshwater river and the gentle surging of water running below the docks on its way from the mountains to the sea.

A ruckus on the pier interrupted Renatus’ meditations as a gaunt, awkward fellow of some twenty-five years loaded with sacks of belongings came running down the wharf, stumbling under the load and dropping his satchel or a bundle ever few steps. After a short wait, Arcellius took pity upon him and sent two soldiers to assist the man. Would that be Darius, the young scholar you told Marius about?

Renatus had to stifle a laugh at the antics of his young confidante and adopted son. He said, It could be no other.

Arcellius laughed with him. Ha, this will be a merry journey!

Darius stumbled up to Renatus and Arcellius.  I must say... He looked at the soldier who took his satchel from him and threw it onto the barge’s stern, where a crewman stowed it. Oh, thank you.  As I was saying: I must tell you that this is most unusual.  I have taken what important papers I could find and put them in whatever sacks I could borrow from the brethren.

Renatus said, Well, Darius, I do hope that you did not forget to pack clothes for yourself.  We may be gone for some time.

Disoriented, he glanced over all that he had brought with him, Clothes?  Oh, dear...

Arcellius looked at Renatus in amazement and sighed, Do not worry, little man, there are some clothes on board the ship in Massilia that might fit you – if we fatten you up first!

Thank you.  You are most gracious, general.  I became so engrossed in putting together the papers, that I forgot such a minor detail, he said, distracted.  Then he looked up at Arcellius and asked, What do you mean fatten me up?

Look at you, man! A stiff breeze will knock you overboard!  He replied. Don’t worry; we have requisitioned rations enough for four trips.  By the time we reach Rome you will be twice... he looked Darius over, taking his measure, whatever you are now.  He cocked his head in the direction of the barge where the two soldiers and the pilot were waiting for the party to come aboard. Go ahead and get on board.  I will tend to Renatus.

After Darius managed to get across the gangplank without falling off or tipping it, Arcellius helped Renatus across the wood plank.  He whispered to Renatus, Did he call me ‘general’?

Enjoy your promotion, Arcellius, Renatus said with a grin.

The Rhone is deep and wide.  The pilot knew the shoals of the river well, but this did not dissuade Renatus in offering prayers for God to give him a steady hand and for clear sailing weather. The barge pilot seemed a competent fellow, but the wisdom of trying to sail the river in the dark and with so little visibility created some anxiety for Renatus and the others.  Once aboard, Renatus found that the riverboats had an ingenious means of navigating in this weather. The flat bow poles were set at angles that sank three fathoms below the surface with strings attached to the top of each pole leading to two bells of differing tones hanging next to the pilot who stood at the rudder in the stern. A high tone meant he needed to steer to port and a lower tone told him to go starboard. Besides the pilot, there were six crewmen. Four men rowed and two handle the poles when the barge was in the shallows. In open water, all the men manned the oars. A metal tube hung on the bow, with strikers that would ring it as the waves rocked the boat. Its pitch was high, so the sound would travel across the waters.  This and two bright lanterns warned off any other boats in the area, thus avoiding a collision. It also made for a musical journey.

An hour into the trip the barge found a current of smooth water that allowed the oarsmen to stand down. The harsh, stinging wet fog of the dark morning became a gentle dry mist. Hovering over the river the sun climbed into the sky and found the river with its rays and the mist soon became a soft haze. 

In the bright white sunlight of the third hour, the haze all but melted away. The girth of the river came almost as a surprise to Renatus for he did not recall it being so beautiful on his first trip through here so many years before. The gray-green water ahead and on either side were still smooth and at rest waiting for the occasional fish to break the surface.  If Renatus squinted, he could imagine seeing the water in the shallows near the eastern shore swirling at the boundaries of the smooth current they rode.  Between trees dotting the shoreline, he saw low green hills and the otherworldly purple image of mountains in the distance beyond, shrinking and disappearing as they approached the coast. The banks were alive with bathers and farmers coming down to fetch water for crops as well as with clutches of women washing clothes.

By the beginning of the sixth hour, the shore became increasingly distant and the smell of the air coming off the water changed. The breeze carried a brackish scent and the smell of salt was in the air.  Renatus licked his lips and tasted the sea.  Standing up to look over the bow of the barge, he saw that they were approaching the Port of Massilia.  When they came closer to the port, the oarsmen took their positions, as the traffic on the waterway grew heavier. 

The harbor teemed with ships from around the empire.  Long ships, merchant ships, warships, as well as large and small fishing boats dotted the still waters.  Massilia was the main gateway to the major Gallic provinces of Narbonensis, Lugdunensis, and Aquitania, as well as the source of trade for the Alpine provinces of Penninae, Cottiae and Maritimae and the remainder of Europe along the Rhone and Saone rivers.  It was an unadorned harbor, open to the Great Sea with a minimal breakwater.  This part of the sea was for the most part a place of calm waters and not often visited by great storms.  The expansiveness of the protected, man-made harbors Renatus knew at Alexandria, Caesarea and Seleucia was not important here.

This harbor held memories for Renatus; for it was here that he first arrived to take up his final posting, or rather to begin his exile in Gaul.  Caligula did not like Pilate and entertained a grudge against him over the death of his father, Germanicus, since his younger years.  He was at least gracious enough to grant Pilate an assignment that – despite its remoteness - allowing him to retain his honor.  The miniscule province of the Alpes Cottiae was a frozen highland country possessed by few men but many goats.  His contemporaries called Pilate, Prefect of Sheep.  Yet he and Procla, who spent her childhood in Gaul, settled in and learned to enjoy the quiet charm of the mountain province and its capitol Vienne Allobrogum along the Rhone River. 

Sorry to say Antipas did not fare as well.

The great Tetrarch, Herod Antipas, was not well disposed to the cold and wet weather that befell Lugdunum that first winter of his arrival.  He took ill.  Although he did linger on through two more winters, he did succumb to the harsh climate and lies in a grave far from his royal ancestors. Herodius always blamed their ill fortune on Pilate, claiming that his friendship with Antipas made Caligula look with hostility upon her husband when he went to Rome to petition the Emperor to make him King of all Judea.  Caligula’s lifelong friendship with Antipas’s nephew Agrippa, to whom the Emperor gave the throne of Judea in the end, was Antipas’ undoing, not Pilate.  Nevertheless, Herodius always swore she would avenge her husband, and she had her wish. 

Now he was back where it all began over thirty years before.

Since the barge had but a single task: that of taking Renatus to the ship that would carry him to Rome, they bypassed docking at the port and continued out to the open waters of the harbor.

Arcellius stood and pointed to a man-of-war sitting out in the deep waters of the harbor.  There is the ship that will take us to Rome.  He sat down again saying, She returns to port for repairs.

I do hope that that does not bode ill for our voyage, Renatus said, half joking.

Fear not, Renatus.  You will live long enough to see Rome again, he said, returning the jibe.  It means that we will be sailing the wind with a service crew and not with a full compliment.  There well be plenty of room to move about on board, and the trip will be slow.  I hope you are in no hurry.

Chapter Five

Juno

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As their barge approached the great ship, Renatus could now see that the name of the ship painted on the side of the bow.  The Juno was a deep draught ship, which stood empty with it waterline well above the surface and its oars standing at rest in the green water, ready to be tied to the sides.  The main mast overhead stood high with flags denoting the units of the legion aboard, unfurled at the ends of its wide yard. The standards of Rome and the Roman navy were visible on the aft deck.

The ship resting in the bay brought a flood of memories back to the old man.  I spent much of my youth in the Legion serving aboard ships such as this.  My elder brother, Ilderius, served aboard one much like it as well, but he was lost at sea long ago, Renatus said, as he thought back so many years and realized that he could no longer recall his brother’s face or remember the sound of his voice.

Stepping aboard the ship, placing his feet upon the juniper deck planks and feeling the solid oak rails beneath his hand, filled him with nostalgia for his lost youth.  How many times had he been on such a ship looking towards the horizon for a great adventure?  It was one much like this that carried him and his dear Procla to Alexandria and then on to Caesarea.  It was also one such ship like this in Seleucia which he placed the remains of his general and friend, Germanicus. The same ship took his wife Agrippina and Gaius their son away with a curse on their lips for Pilate.  It was as if his fate seemed tied to such ships.

The great man-of-war was solid and rocked little on the tide. As he looked about, the indications that it had served in a battle were still evident.  The slits that the arrows left in the deck and mast showed that they might have encountered Mauritanian pirates.  The scorching marks around some of the slits and a large blackened spot on the aft deck also left open the possibility that it was the work of Lusitanian renegades that trawled the dark waters beyond the Pillars of Hercules, awaiting hapless ships loaded with treasure.  Nonetheless, the damage was superficial, and in any case, this ship was due for a port call.  It was sturdy and heavy, so Renatus anticipated a smooth voyage.

It was almost the end of the ninth hour before they set sail out of the harbor and into a placid and welcoming sea. For the better half of the remaining day, all the men were staking out a place for themselves with the choice quarters going to the officers and those of the crew with seniority.  Renatus went into a cabin below the deck, adjacent to the officer’s mess where the ship’s pilot expected him to lend a hand during mealtime.  There was no mistaking that he was not a guest, but a prisoner, who had duties commensurate with his status.  With such a small crew, every man aboard had some duty or function to fill.  Renatus was delighted that this gave him an opportunity to serve others and he went about his tasks with joy.  By the end of the twelfth hour, everything was stowed and made ready for the journey, and at dusk, the fires for the first watch were set.

The warship had limited space below its decks and for a contingent of almost three hundred men to eat; most of the crew took their meals on deck.  However, with fewer than two score men aboard for this voyage, most of the crew fit well enough in the galley mess. That evening they dined on a warm meal of mutton and bread served with wine from the new vineyards around Metis and Burdigala in central Gaul.  The poor lighting in the officer’s mess revealed austere facilities, but in the chill of the evening sea, it was cozy enough to provide some comfort.

After the officers and the crew ate, it was the turn of the slaves and prisoners to partake of whatever they left uneaten. Having cleared the table while humming a psalm, Renatus set clean dishes out for the slaves and prisoners.  This was unusual because galley slaves were required to stay in the food preparation area for meals.  However, because there were so very few men aboard, the slaves and prisoners acted as crewmembers and they could take meals in the galley. Renatus offered a prayer to bless the food and many of the slaves joined him.

As part of his duties aboard the Juno, Renatus served wine to the men on deck to quell the chill of the night air, as well as to calm the stomachs of those who felt rummy on their first night at sea. He set out the amphorae of wine and water and gave the proper mixture to the crew on duty, to assure their well being, but not to cloud their minds in case of a sudden squall. 

It turned out that this night, the wine would not be put to use for either of these purposes.  A few hours into the voyage the wind that was moving the great ship along died away and the unfurled sail became a sagging sheet hanging from the yardarms.  The whitecaps that he was accustomed to seeing had all but disappeared and the water’s surface became calm, looking more like the surface of an inland lake than the hard and great sea. Renatus looked back up to the bridge as he set down a barrel of wine on the foredeck. 

What has happened?  He asked the pilot staring up at the main mast.

We have hit a patch of dead air, he replied, still distracted by the cessation of movement in the main sail.

Renatus followed the pilot’s gaze to the mainsail and asked, How long do you think it will last?

The pilot looked at Renatus and shrugged, "At this time of year it may last a few hours or