Chapter 3
by Douglas, Lloyd C.‘No. What’s a Messiah?’
‘The Messiah is their deliverer, sir. According to their prophets, he will appear, one day, and organize the people to achieve their freedom.’
‘I never heard of it,’ admitted Marcellus, indifferently. ‘But small wonder. I haven’t had much interest in religious superstitions.’
‘Nor I!’ protested Paulus. ‘But one hears a good deal about this Messiah business during Passover Week.’ He laughed at the recollection. ‘Why, sir, you should see them! Sleek, paunchy old fellows, swathed from their whiskers to their sandals in voluminous black robes, stalking through the streets, with their heads thrown back and their eyes closed, beating their breasts and bleating about their lost kingdom and bellowing for their Messiah! Pouf! They don’t want any other kingdom than the one that stuffs their wallets and their bellies. They don’t want a Messiah—and if they thought there was the slightest likelihood of a revolution against Roman domination they would be the first to stamp it out.’
‘They must be a precious lot of hypocrites!’ growled Marcellus.
‘Yes, sir,’ agreed Paulus, ‘but they set a fine table!’
For a little while, the Tribune sat silently shaking his head in glum disgust.
‘I know the world is full of rascality, Paulus, but this beats anything I ever heard of!’
‘It is rather sickening, sir,’ conceded Paulus. ‘The sight that always makes me want to slip a knife under one of those pious arms, upraised in prayer, is the long procession of the poor and sick and blind and crippled trailing along after one of these villainous old frauds, under the impression that their holy cause is in good hands.’ He interrupted himself to lean over the arm of his chair for a better view of the doorway, and caught sight of Demetrius standing in the hall within sound of their voices. Marcellus’s eyes followed.
‘My Greek slave keeps his own counsel, Centurion,’ he said, in a confidential tone. ‘You need not fear that he will betray any private conversation.’
‘What I was going to say, sir,’ continued Paulus, lowering his voice, ‘this political situation in Jerusalem, revolting as it sounds, is not unusual.’ He leaned halfway across the desk, and went on in a guarded whisper, ‘Commander, that’s what holds the Empire together! If it were not for the rich men in all our subjugated provinces—men whose avarice is greater than their local patriotism—the Roman Empire would collapse!’
‘Steady, Paulus!’ warned Marcellus. ‘That’s a dangerous theory to expound! You might get into trouble—saying such things.’