The Wolf and the Lamb Read Free Page B

be in King David’s city for this celebration of the Flight from Egypt and its Pharaoh into the Promised Land. Worshippers, celebrants, and curiosity-seekers crowded into an area that could comfortably accommodate a tenth their number. Add to that the presence of the Emperor in the person of the Prefect and every radical, latent revolutionary, plus scores of fakers and frauds, and the mixing and mingling in their number made for an unusually tense time. Thus, the Empire bolstered its military presence. It was a cycle repeated every year—and one that would one day lead to confrontation and bloodshed and the destruction of a Nation.
    Now, a full week before the beginning of the holiday, the city’s population had already grown twentyfold. An official delegation sent by the Emperor had arrived unannounced. The Prefect had not been read into the reason for it being thrust on him, and that worried him. With Emperor Tiberius sequestered on the Isle of Capri, wallowing in depravity and madness, any sort of visitation commissioned by him that included people of rank and influence did not bode well for the residents of Roman Palestine in general, nor Pilate, in particular. Still, he had had to follow up on the Centurion’s request. And now? The untimely death of his rival displaced all other concerns he may have had. The presence of these officials and their mission was overshadowed by a need to survive a charge of murder. Pilate found himself reduced to waiting for the Rabban of the Sanhedrin to come to his rescue. The eagle must seek help from the hare; the wolf must seek guidance from the sheep.
    The irony would not be lost on either of them.
    ***
     
    Try as he might, Gamaliel could not extract anything more from the boy except that the Prefect wishes to see the Rabban, and it is a matter of some urgency. The last time Gamaliel could remember having been summoned into the Prefect’s presence, it had not been an easy meeting. He hoped this one would not be a repeat of that. As they approached the Antonia Fortress, his guide veered sharply to the side and circled the building. Gamaliel began to wonder if he hadn’t been lured into a trap. The broad stairway leading up from the Temple Mount into the platform that fronted the Fortress was the only entrance he knew. Where was this boy taking him? Surely Pilate…
    “Here now, boy,” he said. “Where are you taking me? This is not the way to the Prefect.”
    “I am only following my orders, sir. Please, this way.”
    The boy hurried on. Gamaliel had no choice but to follow. He could have reversed and gone home, but he doubted that ploy would work. If the Prefect really did wish to see him, he’d be dragged back again and not nicely. Besides, his curiosity had been piqued. He knew that his curiosity often ended by putting him in situations that were less than beneficial, yet he yielded to it. Pilate could be arbitrary and cruel, but at the same time, any call into his presence would be intriguing. His best course was to follow the boy and see what the mighty Roman had in store.
    Bypassing the Prefect’s elaborate apartment, where in the past Gamaliel had been alternately scolded and cajoled, the boy led him through a small portal and into a rat’s warren of corridors. After six or so turns, Gamaliel lost all sense of direction. He could not have found his way out to save his life. Now, he had no choice but to quick-step along with the boy. After what seemed a lifetime, the boy flung open a heavy cedar door and ushered him into a smallish room. There were no windows and the only egress seemed to be the door through which he’d just entered. The space was redolent with the nearly overpowering scent of burning pitch emitted by the flames of seven torches set about the walls in angled sconces. In the room’s center Pilate sat in a rough chair behind an even cruder table. If Gamaliel had to guess, this room would normally serve as a gathering place for the soldiers stationed at