Chapter 22

‘It says here that you have made pretence of being a King,’ and then he added, with fine irony, for the benefit of his Roman guests, ‘though the Sanhedrin’—Pilate tapped the ornate document with his finger—’assures this court that it will recognize no King but Caesar. Doubtless Emperor Tiberius, when he learns of this, will be pleasantly surprised.’ The distinguished guests grinned appreciatively. ‘Now, young man,’ continued the Procurator, ‘you do not look much like a King, in spite of your royal garb. Has it been your custom to go about in this ridiculous costume?’

The prisoner shook his head without looking up.

‘Has the prosecution anything to say about that?’ demanded Pilate.

After some hesitation a young priest admitted sheepishly, ‘It was put on him at the Embassy, sire.’

‘Then you will restore his clothing to him immediately,’ growled Pilate. ‘This court, probably lacking in humour, is in no mood for buffoonery.’

There was some delay before the defendant’s brown homespun robe was found. His back, when they bared it, bore deep lash-wounds, still bleeding. Pilate’s sharp eye may have seen the prisoner wince, may have seen the people stare, for he commanded the Galilean to turn round.

‘It would appear,’ he said, ‘that the prisoner has been already tried, convicted, and punished. By what process of law has he now been brought into this court? Has he then committed some fresh crime since his case was judged?’

Nobody volunteered to answer this question, but an ominous rumble of dissatisfaction rose from the densely packed throng. Pilate glanced again, with distaste but something of anxiety, at the indictment. Mencius, studying the Procurator’s expression, gathered that the document worried him. Putting down the papyrus on the desk and leaning forward on his folded arms, Pilate asked: ‘Are you, then, a king?’

‘I am!’

It was the first time that Mencius had heard the Galilean speak and the tone of his voice produced a peculiar sensation. The words were crazy enough, but the man who spoke them was not crazy. The voice was calm, respectful but self-confident. Evidently Pilate had been similarly affected, for his face remained soberly attentive. The murmuring in the crowd had ceased.

‘Tell us about your Kingdom,’ said Pilate. ‘Where is it?’

‘My Kingdom,’ replied the Galilean, ‘is not of this world.’

He paused. Pilate listened. The multitude was silent.

‘Proceed,’ said Pilate. ‘Your Kingdom is not in this world, you say. Where, then, is it?’

‘My Kingdom is not of this world, but it is in this world for all who seek truth. They who love truth hear my voice—and understand what I say.’