The Third Day

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I was about to ask where this particular tunnel led when I heard voices in my earpiece. Lavon heard them too. He listened for a moment and then handed the device to Naomi.

“What’s happening?” said Bryson.

“Shh,” I whispered.

Naomi translated the Aramaic into Greek when the conversation paused. Like the discussion in Pilate’s office, I will never forget the exact words she related to us.

Chapter 53

Herod spoke first. “Azariah, I commend you. Her eye is healing nicely. By tomorrow evening, no Roman will be able to say that I have to flog my women into submission.”

“She is truly a unique specimen, my lord. It is a shame she cannot speak a word of our language.”

“She knows no Aramaic?” asked the king.

“Nor Greek, I’m afraid.”

“Latin?”

“A word or two at most.”

Herod shrugged off this complication.

“Well, it is of no importance. To carry out her responsibilities, she will not need to talk. The others chatter too much anyway.”

The courtiers in the room laughed, and one of them cracked a joke Naomi didn’t bother to translate.

For the next few minutes, we heard nothing but idle gossip. But then I could hear the approaching sound of marching feet.

“About half a dozen, I’d guess,” I whispered to Lavon.

The soldiers halted some distance away. One of their number broke off and came closer. He came to attention and saluted — I’d recognize that sound anywhere — and then I heard some brief shuffling before the man saluted once more and backed away.

Nothing happened for a minute or two. Then we heard a voice.

“It appears that Pilate is sending us a prisoner, my lord,” said Azariah.

I heard a brief grunt. Whatever was happening, the monarch didn’t like it.

“Despite holding the title of prefect, Pilate is only of the Roman equestrian order,” said Herod. “Yet he, a mere knight, presumes to tell a crowned king how to handle our affairs.”

From what Naomi said, this was a familiar complaint.

“A most lamentable circumstance,” said Azariah.

A brief period of silence followed.

Finally, Herod spoke again. “Well, who is this prisoner?”

“The message says that it is the Nazarene.”

“The Nazarene?”

“The same, my lord. He is a Galilean, so Pilate is sending him to us.”

We heard another grunt. Herod did not welcome this news.

“Just what I would expect. He fears a riot, and if one does occur, he wants someone else to bear the responsibility.”

“Yes, my lord. That is how I see it, too.”

As did I, though I regretted that we would never have the chance to find out whether Publius or Volusus had planted this idea in the governor’s head or if Pilate had thought of it himself. Both struck me as plausible.

“How was he caught?” asked Herod.

“Apparently, one of his followers saw the light.”

“No doubt reflected off some silver,” grumbled Herod. “Who arrested him: the Romans or the Temple police?”

“I don’t know. Whatever happened, though, he ended up in the hands of Pilate, who will crucify him; of that we can be certain.”

“Yes, but Pilate is afraid that his followers will cause a disturbance, like, um, what’s his name — ”

“Barabbas,” said Azariah.

“Yes, Barabbas. Pilate will not want to write a dispatch to the Emperor explaining why he could not keep order, so he seeks a way to blame any problems that might arise on me. Perhaps the Romans will use this as an excuse to remove a portion of Galilee from my jurisdiction as well, and keep its revenues for themselves.”

“That may be their intention.”

After last night’s shindig, I could feel Herod’s concern. From my limited observations, the king didn’t seem like the type who troubled himself much with budgets.

“What do you suggest?” Herod finally asked.

Azariah didn’t have a ready answer. Like all courtiers caught in such circumstances, he seemed to be stalling for time.

“You wanted to see him, my lord, did you not?” he finally said. “Perhaps he can work some sign.”

“You’re certain this is not the Baptist?”

“Positive, my lord. He and the Baptist are distinct individuals, though they are cousins, which would explain the resemblance.”

“That man tormented me to no end. I could not have let him live and kept my dignity.”

“No, my lord. You only did what had to be done.”

Another pause.

“Well, bring him in.”

I heard the sound of shuffling feet and metal dragging across the floor, as if soldiers were leading a prisoner bound by a heavy chain.

No one said anything at first. I suppose the king was examining whether the prisoner’s physical appearance matched what he had expected to see.

Finally, Herod spoke. “I hear you are a miracle worker.”

The man did not respond.

“The Romans have sent you to me. Show me a sign, and I can set you free.”

Again, silence; and sign or no sign, this was almost certainly a lie; unless Pilate had some new scheme up his sleeve that he hadn’t mentioned before.

Herod made the request again, and I could tell that he was becoming irritated. The prisoner, though, never uttered a word.

A little later, one of the retainers made a crack, but neither the king nor Azariah said anything in response. Then, finally, we heard a loud cry.

In English.

“Oh my God!”

Sharon’s breaths came rapidly. “Oh my God! My Lord!”

“What’s this?” I heard Herod say.

“Oh my Lord! My God!” she repeated.

Whatever Sharon was doing, the king didn’t care for it much.

“How does this one know the prisoner?” he barked. “I thought you said she cannot speak our language.”

“She cannot,” said Azariah. “I am absolutely certain of this.”

“Yet she grovels before him as if he were a king, and not me. Look at her! She is afraid even to look into his eyes.”

“I cannot explain it, my lord.”

I could feel the tension from our hiding place in the tunnel, though I suppose that was because my own stomach was turning in knots.

Nothing happened for a few moments. Then we heard Azariah bark an order and several pairs of feet trotted