Chapter 20

‘The rabble!’ squeaked Ben-Sholem shrilly. ‘Outlanders! Damascenes! Samaritans! Camel-boys!’

Jesus made no reply to that. A few more questions were asked, but the inquisition lacked spirit. They were all aware that there wasn’t much that they could do, and they surmised that Jesus knew it. It had been their intention to bring him to trial before the regularly constituted authorities. This present company could badger him and insult him as long as they liked, and nothing would come of it except damage to their own dignity. It was difficult to decide what to do with him.

Caiaphas ordered Malchus to take the prisoner outside and await further instructions. The command was growled so crossly that the butler, disappointed over the apparent failure of his effort to ingratiate himself with these learned men, jostled and jerked the captive out of the room to make him share his own inglorious exit. A servant slipped quietly into the room and up-ended the tall hour-glass on the table at the High Priest’s elbow. It was two o’clock.

After a considerable silence, each man hoping that someone else might come forward with a promising idea, Obadiah, Chief of the Scribes, cleared his throat.

‘Why not send him directly to Pilate?’

‘What?’ snorted Caiaphas. ‘At this hour?’

‘He’ll still be up,’ muttered old Nathan, the High Priest’s legal adviser.

‘He’ll be drinking and telling bawdy stories all night with the visiting Legates.’

‘He might even be pleased with some diversion,’ chortled old Annas. ‘Write him a note, Caiaphas. Tell him we want him to try this fellow—forthwith!’

‘Good!’ exclaimed Ben-Sholem. ‘The whole thing might be over and done with before the city awakes in the morning!’

‘No—it’s not that good!’ grumbled Caiaphas. ‘All this business on Passover night! What will he think of us? If such a note is to go to Pilate, Father Annas, you may write it!’

‘I’m not the High Priest,’ rumbled the old man. ‘And what does that Roman know or care about the Passover!’

‘And why should we care what he thinks?’ added Nathan. ‘He will do what he’s told to do.’

They all seemed agreed on this. Nathan got out his stylus and wrote the note, Caiaphas signed it, and Malchus was given his orders. The mob hurried their prisoner to the Insula.

The Procurator was not only awake but, as Nathan had predicted, was having a party for the visiting Legates and a Prefect or two who had accompanied the legions from forts related to their cities.