The Redemption of Pontius Pilate Read Free

all.”
    Pilate swore to himself as he left the Forum. The Emperor was not letting him off cheap! There were twelve praetors in all, six of them assigned to Rome itself, and six scattered throughout the provinces. Twelve hundred denarii was not a fortune, but it was a considerable sum nevertheless, especially for a young officer who could not call upon his family’s wealth. His father had been blessed with five children, two daughters who required a dowry to marry, and three sons to climb the cursus honorum . Simply put, the family did not have enough money to finance Pilate’s German excursion, and he did not have the funds on hand himself after the expensive election he had just gone through.
    But Rome’s moneylenders were a thriving part of the economy, and Pilate knew that legates headed into the field of conflict were considered a good investment. He was senior enough in rank that the odds favored his safe return, and foreign campaigns invariably meant foreign plunder—treasures from enemy temples, proceeds from the sale of captives brought back as slaves, and money earned by selling the military equipment of fallen enemy soldiers. Soldiering was a profitable business for Rome’s officers, and the moneylenders knew it.
    Before nightfall Pilate had sufficient funds borrowed, and the next morning he called on his fellow praetors and handed them the letters of credit from his bank—wealthy Romans had long since ceased carrying coin of any significant amount in the city itself. However, he did withdraw two hundred newly minted silver coins after that to take to the Temple of Mars. Offering a letter of credit to a god was considered very poor taste! As he entered the temple, he saw that the fires of the altar were lit once more, signifying that Rome was at war. It was a point of great pride to Augustus that he had extinguished those fires more often, and for longer, than any ruler in Rome’s history. It was the Emperor’s preference for diplomacy over war that made opportunities for advancement, like Pilate was about to enjoy, so rare. As the young officer donned his scarlet legate’s cape and mounted his horse, he thanked Fortuna, the goddess of luck, that he had made such a good impression on Tiberius. With any luck, this German campaign would mark the beginning of his rise to power. Who knew where that path would take him, or how far? These thoughts made good companions as he steered his course northward.
    Pilate joined the army at Tolosa, where Tiberius was mustering his forces. They would have to cross four separate provinces to get to the German frontier. The barbarian tribes of the deep forests had launched a series of raids on Roman colonies after the defeat of Varus, leaving burnt-out farmsteads and charred corpses in their wake. Tiberius was advancing with four full legions under his command, three veteran and one newly recruited—all told, over twenty-four thousand infantry, cavalry, and auxiliaries. It was a force small enough to move with great speed if need be, but formidable enough to deal with a very large enemy host. The two great military men of the previous generation, Gaius Marius and Julius Caesar, had taught Rome that her legions need not be huge to be victorious. A well-commanded, mobile, smaller force was more than capable of fending off vastly superior numbers. What really counted was not so much the quality of the army as the quality of the commander, as Varus had demonstrated. Fortunately for them all, Tiberius was no Varus!
    Pilate was appointed second-in-command of the newly recruited Sixteenth Legion, under the leadership of Flavius Sixtus, a hoary old veteran who had marched with Tiberius and Agrippa in their famous campaign to Armenia thirty years before, when Tiberius had been younger than Pilate was now. The veteran soldier regarded the young Pilate with a keenly appraising eye. “Tiberius has taken a liking to you, young legate,” he said, “and he and I go way back. If he says