The Master's Quilt by Michael J. Webb

Author:Michael J. Webb
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: christian, supernatural thriller, fiction, suspense, adventure, historical, action

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Pontius Pilate held Deucalion’s sword in his left hand and gestured vehemently at Antonius with his right. “What do you mean no one knows where he is? He’s the Commander of the Garrison. Praetorians do not simply vanish into the night, never to be heard from again!” he yelled, furious with his cowering servant.

Antonius stepped backward, out of the reach of Pilate’s shaking fist. “He hasn’t been seen since he left the woodworker’s shop,” replied the servant. “One of his men spoke to him during the melee and he told the centurion that he was taking two prisoners to the garrison for questioning. He never arrived.”

“Prisoners? What kind of prisoners?”

“An injured man and a woman.”

“Jews?”

“The centurion didn’t say, master. He only indicated that they disappeared into the night.”

Pilate’s initial rage began to subside as he considered the possibilities.

“Disappeared, you say?”

Antonius remained silent and shrugged his shoulders in reply. “Find Malkus immediately and tell him to report to me at once,” said the Procurator, walking over to the balcony and staring down at the Royal Bridge.

Antonius did not move, alerting Pilate that he had a further message for his master.

Without turning around, Pilate asked, “What else?”

“I would remind you that you have an appointment with the High Priest this morning. He’ll be here shortly.”

Under his breath, Pilate cursed. He had completely forgotten about Caiaphas.

He had gone to great lengths to arrange a surreptitious meeting with the High Priest. His predecessors had set precedent by dealing directly with Antipas, letting him be responsible for the conduct of the members of the Sanhedrin. He grudgingly acceded to that precedent, although not out of any sense of loyalty or duty. Antipas’ weakness was his lust for power and it was precisely because of that lust that he was able to control the Tetrarch.

The meeting he had arranged for today, however, was an additional safeguard. He considered the irony of the situation. Not only was he using Antipas to subjugate the priesthood, but he was also using the priesthood to insure that even if Antipas failed, Pilate would have a scapegoat. Rome is not going to crucify me as it did the rabbi from Nazareth, he thought. I’ve ruled this cursed mote of dust and death for seven years and what have I to show for it? Nothing but nightmares. It’s time these Jews return some of the blood they have leeched from me.

He stared morosely at the soft haze that cloaked the distant mountains. The thick, gray-white mist reminded him of the vapors that rise up from the surface of a stilled lake as the chill of dawn caresses the warm, languid water. His gaze kept straying, however, and he had to force himself not to look at the bridge. He feared the madness he found within himself whenever he remembered what had happened there.

Nevertheless, the memory flooded his mind unbidden, as it had done repeatedly for the past two months. In his mind’s eye he could see the blood that flowed unceasing from the Nazarene’s wounds.

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