The Redemption of Pontius Pilate by Lewis Ben Smith

spent. He ate a quick bite and pretended to go to bed, then slipped out the window just before midnight. The four legionaries were living in a large tent pitched in front of the villa. Two of them were sleeping, while the other two slowly patrolled the grounds. Pilate waited for them to both pass out of his field of vision, and stealthily ran toward the building, ducking behind a column just as one of the sentries rounded the corner coming toward him. Swathed in his dark mantle, he carefully spied out the rooms of the villa. Fortuna was smiling on him—Piso’s wife, Munatia Plancina, was gone from the villa for the evening. The servant, an elderly butler, was snoring in a deep sleep in the servants’ quarters, with a jug of wine at his elbow. Pilate smiled. It was time for some fun!
    He slid into Calpurnius Piso’s bedroom, silent as a shadow, and drew the dagger from his belt. Then, in one smooth motion, he clapped his hand across the portly governor’s mouth and put the blade against his throat. The eyes started awake and stared about the room in terror. Piso tried to scream, but Pilate’s hand reduced his cries to a muffled squeal.
    “SILENCE, fool!” he hissed in Piso’s ear. “Listen to me very closely. You are a dead man. The only thing remaining to be seen is whether you die like a Roman, quickly and cleanly, or squealing like a wench being raped by a legionary! Do you understand me?”
    Slowly, Piso nodded his head, and Pilate released him.
    “I am the governor of Syria, little man!” snapped Piso. “How dare you lay a hand on me!”
    Pilate laughed softly. “Really?” he said. “It is a bit late in the game for false bravado. I come to you directly from Tiberius. You have made things very uncomfortable in Rome for our Emperor. The people blame him for the death of their beloved Germanicus.”
    “As they should!” snapped Piso. “Sejanus wrote me that Tiberius wanted his adoptive son gone, and I made it happen!”
    “In a way that was so obvious a child could see who was responsible!” snapped Pilate. “Not to mention the fact that Sejanus foolishly interpreted a drunken rant for a direct order. Be that as it may, there is only one way for the Emperor to salvage his reputation now. You must die, cleanly and by your own hand, leaving behind a letter acknowledging your guilt and exonerating Tiberius completely. You killed Germanicus in anger because of your dispute with him, not because you thought the Emperor would reward you!”
    Piso’s eyes shifted rapidly. “If I give the alarm, the sentries will come running!” he said.
    “And find you a gutted corpse!” said Pilate. “Not to mention that I would then have to kill all four of them and set fire to the villa. Trust me, in this matter, you need to remember your honor as a Roman and act for the good of Rome. An uprising against Tiberius would be brutally crushed, and hundreds if not thousands killed. Your wife and children would be stripped of their citizenship and crucified, or sold into slavery to the Parthians. Do you relish the thought of your son being turned into a toy for some perverse Parthian nobleman?”
    Piso gritted his teeth. “Who are you to speak to me so?” he snapped.
    “I am the Emperor’s man,” said Pilate. “That is all you need to know. Now, I believe you have a letter to write.”
    The Governor of Syria gave a sigh of resignation. “May the guilt of your deeds hang over your head like a cloud of doom all your days, stranger!” he snapped. Then he withdrew a piece of papyrus from his wardrobe and dipped a pen into the inkwell and began writing. When he was done, he handed the finished note to Pilate.
    “Excellent!” said Pilate. “Now lie down on your bed while I read it!”
    He placed the point of his dagger against the man’s throat and held it there while he quickly read the suicide note. It was short and quite effectively phrased.
    To His Excellency Tiberius Caesar,
    I regret deeply that I have wounded