# Lazarus, a tale of the world's great miracle/Chapter 18

CHAPTER XVIII.
"THE Magdalene standeth without and asketh audience of thee." These were the words that greeted Pontius Pilate immediately on entering the audience chamber.
"'T is a strange request," the Procurator murmured; "yet methinks it may have somewhat to do with the rumour that hath reached my ears, that Caiaphas did see her yesterday and also the mother of the Nazarene. I was about to look into this, for, even if he go so far in his hate of the Nazarene as to persecute Him, and even slay Him, this frightening of women doth ill become a high priest, and I will have none of it."
Then, turning to the soldier, he said: "Bid her pass in."
Weary with her night of watching, pale, yet ever beautiful, the Magdalene came into the presence of the Roman Governor.
"What wouldst thou, Mary?" asked Pontius Pilate, with that tone of temperate kindliness that showed his wish to give justice and consideration to all. "Thy request must be made short, for I have much to do this day. By midday I must meet Caiaphas at the Tribunal, where the question of the releasing of a captive to the people will be finally decided. Doubtless 't is touching this that thou art ​come, and to plead for the Nazarene; for I hear that thou art altogether gone over to His teaching. 'T is true that He is not yet arrested; but, doubtless, thou hast heard that He is being sought for by the soldiers."
"Nay, most noble Roman, I come not to beg the life of the Christ. For the good of the nation it must needs be that He die. He Himself doth hourly prepare for that great day of grief. I have a message for thee from Nicodemus."
Then, glancing round at the two soldiers, who stood one on each side of the doorway, she continued meekly: "But what I have to say is for the ear of Pontius Pilate only."
Pilate waved his hand to the soldiers to leave the room; also to the scribe who, with feigned diligence, was writing in a corner of the room, shooting salacious glances at the Magdalene, and hopeful that Pontius Pilate would forget his presence.
"And thou too, thou eavesdropper," said Pontius Pilate with a laugh, noting the direction of the Magdalene's eyes. "Thou too canst go, and, if thou wilt listen, listen without the door."
Then the Magdalene stepped nearer to the table at which the Governor was seated.
"Will Pontius Pilate pledge his honour to a poor woman," said the Magdalene, "that the words which I shall speak to thee this day no ears but thine shall ever hear?"
"I promise thee on my honour as a Roman. I swear to thee on the life of my wife, whom I hold most dear of all that I possess, that no one shall ever hear again the words thou shalt say to me this day."
​"I believe thee, most noble Pontius," said the Magdalene simply. Then, in an awestruck voice, that had in it a strange impressiveness, she said: "To-morrow Lazarus will be raised from the dead."
Pilate started. "Woman, what sayest thou? How knowest thou?"
"Verily 't is true, most noble Pilate. Lazarus hath visited me this morn and told me so."
"Then, if Lazarus came to thee, he is not dead," said Pontius musingly.
" 'T was but his spirit, noble Roman. His body hath lain in the grave three days. If thou wilt send to see, thou wilt find that he is still there. Indeed, a Roman soldier guardeth it."
Pilate rose and walked to the window; then, after a few minutes' silence, he turned to the Magdalene: "Almost I believe thee, woman, for thou speakest in tones of truth. Yet how can I help thee in this matter? Why comest thou to me?" The last words were uttered almost impatiently, as though he disputed the responsibility she would fasten upon him.
"Ah, noble Pilate, it is well known throughout all Jewry that thou and thy wife Claudia do love the Nazarene."
"Love is a strong word, woman," answered Pontius Pilate; I do much admire this Nazarene for His power and for His courage, in that He feareth not death, and also doth try to redress the wrongs of the afflicted; for a redresser of wrong is at all times deemed a madman. My wife, too, hath filled my thoughts with talk of Him of late, for she, like all women, hath a weakness for them who defy the ​law. Withal I reckon Him not the Christ. "Then, with more earnestness he asked: "Dost thou?"
"Yea, I know it, noble Pilate. He is the Lord, and I am here to implore thee to come and see Him raise Lazarus, for then thou, too, wilt believe." As she said these words, she fell down at the feet of Pilate. "I beseech thee, oh, I beseech thee, O Pilate, come and believe!"
Pilate frowned, and a great melancholy and a look of doubt came over his face.
"Thou temptest me sore," he said, "and to refuse so fair a woman doth go against my wish; but what would all Judæa say; nay, more, what would Cæsar say, if he should hear that I had assembled myself with the believers in this Nazarene to see His miracles?"
"What matter what they say?" pleaded the Magdalene. "Surely if to follow the Nazarene bring even death, 't were better far to die in Christ than to live denying Him."
More moved than he durst show, Pontius Pilate answered: "Thou speakest but lightly of death, fair woman. Surely this Nazarene hath wondrous power, for even I, a Roman, quail when I think of death."
" 'T is no death to die in Christ," rejoined the Magdalene. 'T is but to live again forever."
"That is His creed, I know, but I cannot accept it. I dare not come." Then, fearing that she would press him further, he murmured something about the hour.
Rising to go, the Magdalene shot yet a wistful glance towards him. But his eyes were gazing at ​the deep blue sky or the waving palm that stood against it. The very air seemed heavy with importance. Presently, with a swift impulse, Pilate came close to her, and looking at her lovely face, now purified and refined by her new life, he said: "Farewell, woman, and I thank thee that thou hast thought to save my soul. Pontius Pilate hath many troubles, and the greatest is, that he cannot understand. Carry a message to thy brethren that, if I can, I will save the Nazarene; for, be He the Christ or be He man, He doth deserve to live."
Sadly the Magdalene turned to go.
"Mary, one word more," called Pilate after her. "If thou shouldst have speech with the Nazarene, tell Him I fain would save Him if I could."
"The Lord knoweth what is in the hearts of all men," said the Magdalene. "We will pray that thou mayst believe." And so, sad at the failure of her mission, she departed.
When the door had closed behind her, Pilate rang a bell that was on his table. When the centurion appeared—he had been wondering at the long interview with the Magdalene—he said: "Bid a man ride at once to Bethany and bring me word where the body of Lazarus lies. But mind, not a word to any else, or it will be chains instead of women's arms around his neck this night. Bid him ride quickly."
But Pilate sat gazing out into space, with a sort of vague surprise that the world still looked as it had looked the day before, and musing on the imperfection of man's understanding. Surely, if this were the God, we should all know it.
At the Sanhedrim he met Caiaphas. The ​meeting between the two was not a friendly one. It was impossible for a fearless, straightforward man like Pilate to have much in common with the wily Jew whose intriguing seemed to be how to intrigue still more. The attitude, till now, of Pontius Pilate towards him had been that of a man who stands on his own unquestioned power, and yet acknowledges what another has attained by cunning. Surely these Jews were highly gifted. Yes, it pleased Pilate to draw out the High Priest, to appeal to his pride, to his learning, his high position—and then to mock him. There was nothing noble in the soul of Caiaphas. He would have descended to any depth of cringing, provided he were certain of his company. With Pilate, whom he feared, he did not cringe, but put on an assumed indifference he was far from feeling. Pilate had once said with curious truth that the beginning and ending of Caiaphas was himself.
To-day both were troubled by the same cause. The humble Carpenter, the Nazarene, the despised and rejected of men, had yet had power to wring the withers of the two chief governors of Israel; but the difference of the two men was this—Pilate longed to believe. If he could have believed, power and wealth would have been laid aside. Caiaphas did believe, but as the devils, we are told, believe and tremble. He was closing up each corner of his heart, stopping, like the deaf adder, his ears, for fear that true belief should come and force submission, and thus wrest from him power and temporal glory. Better the substance than the shadow. Better Caiaphas worshipped by the populace, bowed down ​to, besought and feared, than a humble doorkeeper, perhaps, in the house of the Lord.
In these days Caiaphas rarely read the prophets, lest some text of his own choosing should confound him. The man he least desired to see was Pilate. The man Pilate most desired to see was Caiaphas. No Roman could fail to know that Judæa was ruled by the letter of the law. A legal education was considered the most important in the schools, a strict adherence to the Mosaic ordinances enforced by severest penalty at the earliest age. As enlightenment brought wider range of ideas, so the law of the Sabbath grew more rigid, the noose of the Mosaic Law was drawn the tighter round the people's necks. No one coming from an outside world, and an independent one, like that of Rome, could fail to see that the law of Moses was but wielded as a sceptre of despotism over a lawyer-ridden country. The day would come when Rome itself would take some hints and terrify its own people by the tyranny of an enforced religion that brooked no resistance, that made even argument a sin, that made absolute the dominion of the law.
It was easy to see, thought Pilate, why the chief priests feared the Nazarene, for by His miracles He completed prophecy, and by His actions enforced the commandments of the Mosaic Law; thus confounding the tyranny of perverted argument exercised by the Pharisees and priests for their own ends and crushing out by such fulfilments the slanderous assertions disseminated by His enemies that His doctrines were opposed to the teaching of the Scriptures or the ordinances of the Jewish law.
​When Pilate descended the steps of the Tribunal, where, half from absence of mind and half from a great half-formed uncertainty, he had tempered justice with no unsparing hand, he saw Caiaphas hurrying on in front.
"Art loath to meet me, Caiaphas?" he said to himself. Then, turning to a centurion, he bid him follow the High Priest and ask him whether he could have speech with him in the ante-chamber or at his dwelling. " 'T is one to me," he said, "so I have speech with him."
More feelings than one made Caiaphas avoid a meeting with the Procurator. Anger and fear contended in his heart, and the two are ill-matched companions. He was angry with Pilate for letting go free the two Roman soldiers whom he had sent up for trial for not obeying his orders to lay hands on the Nazarene. Indeed, they had played a double game, for, instead of returning to own themselves defeated, they had appealed to Pilate, and thus forestalled Caiaphas's complaint of them.
"Everything leadeth me to believe that this man thinketh the Nazarene to be the Christ," he muttered to himself. Then he feared a little what Pilate would say at his having dared to attempt to lay hands on the Nazarene, without first asking his permission. Further, if it had come to Pilate's ears that he had visited Bethany in the company of Nicodemus and sent for the two Marys to inquire of them, then indeed Pilate could scoff with reason.
"Tell the illustrious Governor that I have much to write this morning," was the message he returned to Pilate, hoping that his insolence might so offend ​him that he would stay away; but the proud Roman would brook no such messages.
"Tell the High Priest that his writing must needs wait until to-morrow, for that I must have speech with him, and that I am even now upon my road. Ye Jewish people have yet to learn courtesy of speech," he muttered to himself; but, on the road, his strange musings returned to him, and, weary with the searchings of his heart, he forgot his anger and impatience.
For one moment there was an awkward silence, the two men reclining on couches drawn close together, a custom the Romans had introduced. Caiaphas was puzzled to know what had brought Pilate there; and Pilate was debating how to begin his questionings without exhibiting too great an interest in the Nazarene.
"I have much to discuss with thee, Caiaphas," he began. "The Feast of the Passover is at hand, and the question of whom we shall release is not to be lightly settled. The people do expect that one shall be delivered unto them. Who sayest thou, then, should be released?"
The wily Jew joined his finger-tips and appeared to muse awhile; though, in reality, he was watching Pilate's face from the corner of his eye. Pilate, too, looked away to hide the anxiety that was gnawing at his heart, lest another name than the Nazarene's should cross the lips of the priest he had begun to hate. For he knew that Caiaphas would lay hands on Jesus; and, in such case, Pilate desired to set Him free. Both men were silent, while each tried to cheat the other. Brain against brain was pitted, ​each anxious to use his ingenuity for his own ends, each reluctant to breathe, either in favour or disfavour, the name that lay nearest to the lips of both.
"Methinks Barabbas hath a great claim," said Caiaphas presently. "He hath lain long in prison, and for not so grievous a fault; for, though he slew the Pharisee, methinks he slew him but in self-defence."
"Thou growest merciful," said Pilate scornfully, irritated, he scarce knew why.
"'T is ever a priest's place to be merciful, inasmuch as he expecteth mercy," replied Caiaphas, in his dissembling unctuousness.
A flush of anger came over Pilate's face, and the words of the Nazarene recurred to him: "Woe unto ye, Pharisees, hypocrites." Then, pushing into the thickness of his own mental conflict, he went on: "What saith Annas? Doth he, too, recommend Barabbas?" He knew full well he had given Caiaphas the opening he desired, and had speeded the conversation in the turn he would fain have it take.
"Well, since thou askest me, noble Pilate," replied the priest, striving to make his voice indifferent as temperate, "Annas is not content only with the releasing of Barabbas; he would have further the Nazarene condemned at the Feast of the Passover."
"Does he, too, fear Him ?" asked Pilate with increasing scorn.
"None fear Him," replied Caiaphas, pretending to ignore the caustic remark. "None fear Him; but it is a law of the Jews that, if one call himself the Son of God, he shall die the death."
​Then, with strange passion, and a vehemence too powerful to be repressed, Pilate shot out the words:
"And if He be the Son of God, what then, most noble Caiaphas?"
This was a question too wide for Caiaphas to deal with unconsidered, too unexpected to be readily replied to; but, ever an adept at cunning, Caiaphas rejoined with subtlety: "Dost think He is?"
Then Pilate remembered all the risks he would run, should he side openly with the Nazarene; nor was he assured enough in his own mind to answer with full confidence.
"I ask thee a question, and thou answerest me with another," he said impatiently. "Give me thy answer, for thou art great in argument and in the knowledge of the law, and I would argue with thee, as we do in the Tribunal; for argument hath that good about it that oft two lies do form a truth; and, when one doth controvert the other, he that contradicteth contradicteth what he himself doth think to make the other in his turn contradict again; thus, much is learned, and the truth is often come at; for both sides are openly discussed, and the judge hath means thereby to form his judgment.
"Say, if this were the Son of God and we should condemn Him, how would it be in the Judgment Day? What say the prophets will be done of him that destroyeth the Son of God?"
"If He were the Son of God," rejoined Caiaphas, guarded in his answer, yet interested in the argument, "He could not be destroyed by human hands."
"Then I will ask thee yet another question, ​Caiaphas, for I am in the mood to prove thy learning and my own. Dost believe that a Messiah will come?" "Most assuredly," said Caiaphas. "All the prophets say so."
"I accept thy answer," rejoined Pilate, with an elated look. "Then, if the Messiah hath yet to come, how thinkest thou that He will come, and whence, and when?"
"Such momentous problems, noble Procurator, take much time and thought to solve. Methinks it would be better to choose an occasion when business presseth less."
"Nay, nay, my friend," replied Pontius Pilate hastily; " where a man's life is in the balance matters surely press; and, if this man be a Messiah, for sure there is no more urgent matter to you and to me and to the whole world; but answer me, Caiaphas: How thinkest thou the real Messiah will come? How is it written?"
Caiaphas hesitated, from no ignorance, but that he was revolving in his mind how far he would be compromised if he should quote the prophets; and, betwixt fear of seeming ignorant and dread of compromising himself, he was sorely troubled. Then he replied: "Zechariah hath said, 'Behold, thy King cometh unto thee: He is just, and having salvation; lowly, and riding upon an ass, and upon a colt the foal of an ass.'"
The words seemed to come reluctantly from his lips, as though he were the unwilling mouthpiece of the prophecy. Then, as if to conceal their full significance, he added: "But there are many other things that hath not yet come to pass. It saith ​again: 'And it shall come to pass in that day that light shall not be clear nor dark. But it shall be one day which shall be known to the Lord, not day, nor night: but it shall come to pass, at evening time it shall be light.' Then again it saith (here the High Priest raised his voice to an even, monotonous pitch, as though prophesying in the Synagogue) in another place that 'the mountains shall be removed.' But all these signs are not yet come."
Then, with curling lip, Pontius Pilate asked in a tone of assumed indifference: "Dost remember a passage (for I too at times do read the prophets) in the prophet Malachi? 'And now, O priests, this commandment is for you. If ye will not hear, and if ye will not lay it to heart, to give glory unto My name, saith the Lord of Hosts, I will even send a curse upon you, and I will curse your blessings: yea, I have cursed them already, because ye do not lay it to heart. For the priests' lips should keep knowledge, and they should seek the law at His mouth: for He is the messenger of the Lord of Hosts.'"
Caiaphas flushed a deep crimson, and his lips grew white at the words of Pilate.
In a bitter tone he answered: "Thou speakest in parables, noble Procurator; I understand thee not."
"My meaning was," said Pilate, smiling to himself, "to ask thee whether thou hast no fear, supposing that, after all, this were the Christ, that thou thyself mayst meet with eternal death, if so be thou hast wrongly understood the message of the Lord."
"Eternal life, eternal death, who knoweth of these things?" asked Caiaphas impatiently, yet with a troubled look.
​"Thou art, then, verily a Sadducee, like Annas thy father-in-law, and thy wife his daughter. Verily women have great power in this our day."
And his thoughts went back to his own wife, Claudia, who had stated her belief in Jesus and who dreamed so strangely.
"Yet I would ask thee further, noble Caiaphas, for of all our speech no certain thing hath come; neither whether this be the Christ, nor whom we shall release at the Feast of Passover. Answer me; if, as ye Sadducees believe, there be no resurrection, what profiteth a man to do good or evil? And why, then, fast ye? Surely 't is loss of time to be sad, if there be no ensuing good. If 't is true, let us waste no time; let us make merry, Caiaphas, let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die."
Pilate laughed at his own words, in which there was a scornful ring. Then, lowering his voice, went on: "In truth, Caiaphas, hath it not a little truth, this saying of the Nazarene that hath upset thee so—That ye shut up the kingdom of Heaven against men, and ye neither go in yourselves nor suffer them that are entering to go in?"
"I am no Pharisee," said the High Priest angrily.
"How then art thou a ruler of Israel?" asked Pontius Pilate laughing; "for they were mostly chosen of the Pharisees; but methinks the world is upside down, for Judæa hath strange intruders that yet do rule her. We have the Idumæan Antipas and Philo and other Alexandrian Jews, and even Greeks; yet the Greeks and their influence are hated of the Jews. Thou art here to preach salvation to the ​people, and thou believest not in that salvation. Surely, 't is a strange assemblage, and every man's hand is against another's. Each hath a creed of his own, and he that ruleth the larger portion is but he that is the strongest. It seemeth to me that this Nazarene doth restore the right, for He declaimeth against what is evil, and showeth the whole nation the way to God. I know not whether He be the Christ or even a prophet; but this I know, that if we would observe His teaching good only would ensue. He wisheth neither to rob nor to destroy, nor to take the place of any man. He preacheth such a doctrine that, I feel sure, were Moses here, he would himself pronounce it better than his own. Listen what sweet philosophy is this: 'I will have mercy and not sacrifice, for I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance'; and again, that philosophy of forgiveness—was ever philosophy so great? 'Resist not evil; but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. Love your enemies; bless them that curse you'" Then, when Caiaphas would have interrupted him, he went on: "Listen yet to this strange argument: 'If ye salute your brethren, what do ye more than others? Do not even the publicans so?'"
"He is a dreamer" rejoined Caiaphas, shrugging his shoulders; "such things cannot be."
"True," said Pilate, "if such things were, you and I would no more be needed, for there would be no tribunal and no law."
And he laughed lightly.
Caiaphas, pleased at the turn of the conversation, laughed too.
​"Methinks that thou wouldst make this man King of the Jews and then come and conquer Him," he rejoined, half jokingly, yet glancing furtively at the Procurator.
"Nay, Caiaphas, I swear to thee it is not so; I know not whence He cometh, nor what or who He is; but this I do maintain, that I see no sin in Him deserving death."
"He hath said that He is God; therefore He is a blasphemer, and, according to our law, He ought to die," said Caiaphas.
"Your law, your law," retorted Pilate pettishly; "it is with thee the beginning and the end of all things; yet ye know it can be upset at will. What sayest thou about that robber whom thou forgavest all his sins, because he brought thee a basket of ortolans overladen with fat and buried in vine leaves as sacrifice?"
"He that dwelleth about the altar must feed by the altar," said the High Priest unctuously.
"Mayhap, Caiaphas," answered Pontius Pilate, roaring with merriment; "but 't was in fasting time, 't was in fasting time. Thou seest, Caiaphas, that I hear overmuch. Oh, Tiberius did laugh when I did narrate the tale!"
"Didst thou tell Tiberius?" The words were rushed out almost with dismay.
"No harm is done, I assure thee, my good Caiaphas. Tiberius laughed a long space; then he said, 'Had I known, I would have sent him a bottle of Falernian to wash them down.'"
" 'T is some vile falsehood invented in the market place," said Caiaphas angrily. "I wonder, great ​Pilate, that a man in so high a position as thyself should listen thus to servants' tattling."
"Trouble not thyself, good Caiaphas," laughed Pilate. "Thou shouldst have bidden me to share it with thee. But, to return to this question of the Passover, what sayest thou? Shall we execute Barabbas, if needs be that one must die to satisfy the people?"
Caiaphas was silent; then, diplomatically, he answered: "Shall I consult with Annas, and send thee word?"
"Nay, nay," said the outspoken Roman, laughing, "we want not the opinion of deposed high priests, nor of the fathers of our wives! I shall consult no father-in-law, nor shalt thou. Speak, whom shall we release unto the people?"
Then, looking shiftily at Pilate, Caiaphas answered: "Myself, I would release Barabbas, for he hath lain long in prison."
A spasm, as of pain or grief, shot across the face of Pilate, and there was a moment's silence, in which the two men seemed to be measuring their moral strength, like two duellists with their swords. The Roman was the weaker, for, in a disappointed voice, already feeling the battle partly lost, yet still resolved to make a fight of it before he yielded, Pilate said: "And whom wouldst thou sacrifice for the people?"
And Caiaphas, knowing that he was the stronger, with devilish intention, answered: "The Nazarene."
Oh, what a multitude of reflections coursed through the brain of Pontius Pilate, as he once more looked forth from the window on to the shining ​roofs and turrets of Jerusalem, rather than meet the gaze of the man who, he knew, hated him even as he hated the Nazarene, and even now took pleasure in the grief he was inflicting. Even while he gazed upwards toward the sky, he wondered why it did not open and give a sign that this was the Son of God, if such He was. Then, feeling that the question must be settled, he turned to Caiaphas.
"Tell me again, Caiaphas, on what charge shall we then try Him and condemn Him. Hath He indeed guilt at all, or is it but to satisfy the proud Caiaphas, to make his words of prophecy come true?"
"He hath blasphemed, I tell thee," answered Caiaphas sharply, beginning to lose his temper, "in that He hath called Himself the Son of God."
"To call Himself the Son of God is not a sin," retorted Pilate, righting yet, though he felt the weakness of his argument; "for we are all the children of God. Thou thyself in thy prophecy dost say that 'Jesus should die for this nation, and not for this nation only, but that also He should gather together all the children of God which were scattered abroad.' Who, then, meanest thou by the children of God?"
Doubtless, in his subtlety, the High Priest could have found some pungent answer with which to explain away his words, but, at that moment, a noise of many voices raised in excited talk, and the tramping of many feet outside, drowned the last words of Pilate; and ere Caiaphas could reply a centurion entered hurriedly.
"Pardon, rabbis," he began, "but it seemed to ​me my message justified my speedy entrance. Lazarus is raised from the dead. I have it from one who saw him leave the grave. He waiteth outside to give thee further news, if thou wilt see him."
While the man was speaking, Pilate rose and held on with one hand to the couch, while he turned his head with terror-stricken look over his shoulder towards the soldier.
"Dost believe 't is true?" he asked.
"True, how can it be true? What fool's folly is this?" interrupted Caiaphas, stamping his feet, and with one arm clasping his elbow while he bowed his chin upon his hand. 'T is some foul trick, some chicanery of this Nazarene and His company. Maybe they have taken away the body of Lazarus, and this is some other man." Then, turning to Pilate, he continued: "With all thy arguments and unwillingness, we are too late to stop the people now. They will altogether go after this juggling Nazarene. Hadst thou but heard me, the quieting of Judæa had been an easy task. Now who will say how it will end, for this unlearned people will believe that this is a miracle from God. All Jewry hath waited for this day and wondered why it came not. Four days had this schemer left the people to grow heated with endless uproar; and now He bringeth His pretended miracles to a frenzied people, who know not whether they dream or not."
But Pilate answered nothing to his recriminations.
"Bring us hither thy messenger," said he, turning to the soldier.
"It is Chuza who hath come."
"And who is Chuza?" asked Caiaphas, with ​scathing scorn, "that his word is to have weight with the two rulers of Judæa?"
Peace, Caiaphas; I would but hear the rumour from his lips," said Pilate, and he signed to the soldier to bring the man.
A moment later there was announced a little man whose black ringlets and piercing eyes proclaimed him a Jew, while his dress was that worn by the house stewards of the time.
He came in, making low obeisance, but with a troubled look, as if recent events had overwhelmed him. "Who art thou?" asked Caiaphas with scorn.
"May it please thee, High Caiaphas, I am now the steward of Antipas; but I was the steward of Herod, and so well did I rule his household for him, that Antipas did bid me stay."
Caiaphas became less cynical.
The steward in the house of the Tetrarch was a man at least deserving of consideration.
"And dost thou know the Nazarene?"
"May it please thee, High Caiaphas, I have a wife Joanna, who for many years suffered from the disease of madness; and, at the seasons of the moon, she would throw herself into the fire or tear her clothing. She had seen many physicians, but they had availed her nothing, and much money had been spent, which I could ill afford."
"Albeit thou robbest the Tetrarch not a little," put in Caiaphas, with a sneering laugh.
"Let him tell his tale," said Pontius Pilate with impatience. "Proceed, Chuza."
Then the man went on: "But when my wife did ​hear through her sister, Susanna, who is married to a tanner near to Bethany, that this Man did work such miracles, she too went and besought Him. And He turned to her in the crowd and said to her: 'Woman, thy sins are forgiven thee'; and straightway she was cured, and returned unto me whole."
"What said Antipas to this miracle?" asked Caiaphas, with the same self-satisfied, scornful smile. "Is he not wroth that thy wife doth thus run after the Nazarene?"
"He said only, ' 'T was a pity that she had been cured, for else, perchance, she had not returned,' " said Chuza, simply, at which both Caiaphas and Pilate laughed.
"But touching Lazarus? 'T is of him that we would hear," said Pilate. Then, remembering that he would be on dangerous ground should any remark of his be carried back to Antipas, he went on with assumed indifference, that Caiaphas did not fail to note, and, later, profit by. "What tales are told?"
"Nay, they are no tales, my lords," replied the Jew, his whole face changing when his thoughts reverted to the strange phenomenon of that night. " 'T is even so. When Joanna, my wife, heard that Lazarus was dead, she entreated me to accompany her to the house of Martha of Bethany, but my master Antipas hath had two great feasts at his house, and I could not take her thither for four days. But late last night we travelled the fifteen furlongs' journey to comfort Mary and Martha and to carry spices to anoint Lazarus. Then when we reached the dwelling a great multitude stood around, and we feared lest something had happened to the Nazarene. ​But Mary came out to us and whispered that, if we would follow the multitude to the tomb, we would see the glory of the Lord. So we followed to the tomb of Lazarus, and there the Nazarene called out in a loud voice: 'Lazarus, come forth!'
"Well, well," Pilate broke in impatiently, when the man stopped for breath.
He went on: "And immediately he that was dead came forth, bound hand and foot with grave clothes, and his face was bound about with a napkin. And Jesus said unto them, 'Loose him, and let him go'"
Then when Pilate said nothing, but remained wrapped in silence, musing over Chuza's words, Caiaphas broke in impatiently: "And the people, what said the people?"
Somewhat maliciously, eying the High Priest narrowly while he spoke, Chuza answered: "Many of the Jews believed when they saw the things which Jesus did; others went their way to tell the Pharisees the things which they had seen."
"Enough, thou mayst go," said Pilate, handing the man a few coins. "Thou hast well told thy tale."
"Indeed 't is no tale," protested Chuza.
"Silence, and begone, fool!" thundered Caiaphas.
The man hastened away, and at first no word was spoken by the two remaining in the chamber. The hour was late, and the time for Pilate's midday meal had passed. But he recked not of food, this hardy Roman. Since their discussion had begun, this sudden news had weighed the balance on his side. He knew that the fact that Lazarus had not been raised ​had been the strong point of the Pharisees and Sadducees; but, now that the miracle had been accomplished, his arguments had been greatly strengthened, while those of the disbelieving Jews and of the scribes and Pharisees had been proportionately weakened.
Caiaphas was now eager to be rid of his guest, that he might think over this event in silence, and form alone his schemes of tyranny and vengeance. He could not but be conscious that this raising of Lazarus, whether a real miracle, or some trickery, had changed the aspect of affairs, and would lessen his hold upon the people. He started, for in his musings he had forgotten Pilate's presence.
"What thinkest thou now?" asked Pilate.
"Now, now; why should I think differently?" answered Caiaphas. "I think the people are gone mad, and that the Nazarene hath a devil." His voice and tone were sore and irritable.
Pilate rose to go. "Thou wilt not be persuaded, Caiaphas. Yet I hold Him free from all sin. I will go farther into this affair and, mayhap, will see privily the Nazarene," said Pilate; "and if I find no guile in Him I will let Him go, shouldst thou lay hands on Him, and will condemn Barabbas."
The tone was defiant and abrupt, and he left with a blunt farewell, to return to the Palace of Herod, where the Roman Procurators were wont to stay at the time of feasts, in order to keep order in Jerusalem. In his heart he wondered what Claudia would say at this fresh news.
Caiaphas shrugged his shoulders. Then, when Pilate's departing footsteps were no longer audible, ​he muttered: "We shall see, Pilate, who is the stronger, thou or I. We shall see." And over his face there gathered such a glance of hellish hate and malice, mingled with scorn and craft, that surely no such face would ever shine with virtue more.
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