The Madonna and the Political Prisoner, Chapter 23/2

And so Mary and John and I step outside into the cool morning dawn. Gusts of wind are stirring up flurries of dust. There are already several groups of people hurrying to buy provisions for the day or making their way to the Temple to offer their morning sacrifices before the crowds turn it into a madhouse. We have to pass the Temple steps and courtyard on our way to the High Priest’s house and we hang around there for a few minutes to see if we can glean any rumours about Joshua, for each day the crowds have gathered there to hear him speak. Indeed there are already several sick people lying patiently at the foot of the steps, brought by friends and relatives who’ve heard what Joshua’s been doing this last week. They obviously haven’t heard of his arrest. Even as we watch one of the Temple Guards walks over to them and presumably tells them, for they slowly pack up their belongings and struggle off, clearly disappointed.

We walk over to the soldier and John, feigning to be a visitor to the city, asks if the soldier knows at what time the Galilean prophet will appear to speak to the crowd.

The soldier laughs at us.

“Don’t waste your time here. He won’t be coming back. He’s a fraud and the authorities arrested him last night.”

“Where have the taken him?”

“What’s that got to do with you? Good riddance is what I say. He’s made my job impossible here, stirring up the crowd. If I lose control, I’ll be on a charge. Just get on your way and don’t loiter here unless you intend to go inside the Temple courtyard to get your sacrifice.”

“Please tell us where he is?” John is looking at me, I know he thinks I should be quiet, but I have to find out.

“Who are you? Why do you want to know? Are you a follower of his?”

“I’m his mother!”

“Then you’d better get out of my sight before I call more guards to arrest all three of you.”

We move on before he can carry out his threat. I don’t know if he meant it. John doesn’t say anything. James would have sworn at me by now if he’d been here, but John understands, I think. I apologise to John but he doesn’t scold me or complain. When we finally reach the gates of the High Priest’s house, we find them firmly shut and the courtyard inside seems deserted. We’re just wondering what to do, when we hear shouting and see a column of soldiers marching towards us with a prisoner in their midst. It must be Joshua. John looks at both of us.

“Don’t do anything silly now! There’s a couple of dozen hefty soldiers. If you try anything they’ll overpower you in moments and rough you up. I promised James I’d take care of you. Don’t make me break my word.”

They’re dragging Joshua in chains. I’m horrified, he looks as if he’s been beaten. One eye is virtually closed, there’s blood on his garment, then I realise it’s the stain from when he poured the wine from the cup last night and let it trickle down his white robe. I don’t think he’s seen us, as there are many people coming to see what all the fuss is about. Suddenly a cry of “Master” rends the air and all heads turn to stare at Mary who’s stepped forward and ripped the shawl from her head. Joshua, who’s almost past us, turns and notices us, I think, only to receive a savage blow from one of the soldiers across the head and in the same movement receives a violent shove which nearly makes him fall.

One of the guards at the end of the column leans out and aims a swipe at Mary catching her across her face and she falls forward. The soldier mutters ‘whore’ under his breath and does a double-step to catch up his comrades and all disappear into the courtyard, the gate shutting firmly behind them. We can’t follow and the crowd that’s formed is staring at Mary who’s trying to retrieve her shawl from the dusty road. One or two men avert their faces and one spits at her. I go forward and help her up and someone gives me a shove and I nearly overbalance, but John grabs my arm in time.

What now? We stare at the departing prisoner escort, which disappears into the house itself and we are left at the gate, a few people staring at us curiously. Someone asks us if we are followers of that prophet and I say that we are. The person shrugs, then speaks.

“I should make yourself scarce if I were you. I don’t know what he did but it doesn’t look good for him. I heard some were saying he’d been accused of blasphemy but I don’t know if that’s right. I’d find myself another prophet to follow. I think you’ll find you’re wasting your time if you try to stick with him. He’s a loser.”

Mary looks angry at this but John tries to calm her down. When this bystander has moved on, John just says, “Best not to say too much. Just listen and see what we can glean.”

We retreat further back down the road to a place where we can keep watch on the High Priest’s gates, without making it too obvious. The sun is well up into the sky now, though it’s obscured from time to time by scudding clouds as the wind is now really turning into a gale and I’m sure a storm is coming. I pull my cloak about me and try to shield my eyes from the grit being hurled into the air. The thoroughfare is blocked now by pilgrims and their pack animals, not to mention a caravan of camels plodding by, causing the crowds to scatter out of their way.

“Can’t we get into the High Priest’s house and make our plea for him?”

I know what I say is useless, but what else can I do? I’d go in if I could, whatever the consequences, but the gate is firmly shut and a couple of Temple Guards are stationed either side. My guts are churning, I feel faint, but I must not let John and Mary see this for they’ll want to take me back to the stranger’s room. Perhaps the owner of the house is there now. If so, I’m sure Salome and Susannah and Andrew and the others will press him to do what he can. Best to stay here and see what happens. The crowds are getting denser by the minute and when the gates are flung wide and the soldiers emerge once more, we can scarce keep up with them because of the throng. I’ve no idea where we are going now. Many people have poured out of the High Priest’s house and are following the soldiers. Most are white-robed priests and rabbis and there is a lot of scurrying around, youths being pressed into service as messengers by the look of it. One comes close to us and John reaches out and grasps him by the arm.

“What’s going on, young man? What’s happening? Where is everyone going?”

The youth struggles to break free, but gabbles as he makes to dash off.

“They’re off to the Roman Governor’s palace. They need the Governor’s sanction to an execution order.”

My heart lurches when I hear this. What can we do? Is there a way of getting an audience with the Governor himself? Perhaps we can find an official with whom we can speak. I look to Mary. She’s crying again. It’s getting desperate now. How much time have we got? I don’t think John has any ideas. I’m praying wordlessly although the pleas are stabbing at my stomach. I mustn’t panic. That will not achieve anything. We follow the crowd. The spacious forum outside the palace is full of people. They seem to know something is going on. There’s a lot of talk, people seem to be passing purposefully through the throng and whispering to others. The crowd is restive, it is not good humoured.

John steers us to a space near the edge of the crowd in the shade of one of the taller buildings opposite the entrance to the Governor’s palace.

“Wait here – don’t move. I’ll mingle with the crowd and see what I can find out.”

He’s gone a long time. The crowd is thickening all the time and I don’t like the look of many of the men who look hostile. There are hardly any women and many of the men are looking at us with disdain as though we have no right to be here. Well, we have, it’s Joshua who has no right to be inside that wretched building where the Roman Governor lives. It’s big and bullying, towering over our Jewish residences, adjoining the more decorative palace that Herod, the tyrant father of the present Tetrarch, built for himself along with the Temple itself. John has said that Herod Antipas is there at the moment, visiting the capital for the duration of the Passover, even though he’s not a Jew. Why is the crowd so large? Why have they come here? I would expect a large number of pilgrims outside the Temple at this time, but why here? It’s as if they are expecting something to happen. Surely they haven’t come to see what is happening to Joshua like us?

Then I notice some young men near the front of the crowd are shouting slogans. I can’t hear everything they’re saying, but I notice Mary is looking alarmed.

“What are they saying, Mary? What’s happening?”

“I think they’re young Zealots, they must be foolhardy to come and shout anti-Roman insults in front of the Governor’s palace. The Roman guards outside will surely stop them.”

Then I hear muttered expressions of like-minded thoughts from some of the men near us, grouses about the Roman presence and I begin to think that we’re in the middle of a Jewish nationalist protest against the Roman occupation. Surely they wouldn’t dare, not at this festival time? I’m getting very nervous. I don’t feel our presence is welcome here, although I can’t put my finger on the reason. Then I see John wending his way back to us, pushing through the throng.

“What’s happening, John? What is everyone waiting for?”

“There may be a chance of rescue. Apparently the Romans, in order to ingratiate themselves with the crowds who’ve come up for the Passover, grant an amnesty to a well-known prisoner every year. And many of the men here are supporters of the Zealot movement, some of them have risked coming to the capital and mingling with the pilgrims, because there’s a rumour that the prisoner to be released this year is their leader. He’s a man called Barabbas, whom the Romans captured last month up in the hills north of Galilee and brought down here for public execution during the Passover holiday as an example and deterrent to other would-be rebels. Many of the crowd are here to greet their leader and celebrate his release. But I’m told that there may be the possibility of a change of mind and that the Romans might decide to release Yeshua instead. The Governor will not want to let such a prize prisoner go and Yeshua’s presence here might give him a way out.”

My heart leaps at this news, but before I can get too optimistic, a man standing nearby, who has overheard John, turns to us.

“You’re right. They led us to believe that Barabbas would be freed and tempted his supporters to the city. It’s a ruse, they just want to flush the Zealots out so they can arrest and execute the other ring-leaders. Now they say they’re going to free another prisoner instead, some wretched peasant preacher who’s upset the local priests. That won’t worry the Romans at all, he’s harmless as far as they’re concerned. They’ll be in trouble back in Rome if they’ve let a key catch like Barabbas loose again when they’ve spent the last year trying to catch him. Governor Pilatus will be fearing for his job. Well, we’ve all come now to protest if this rumour’s true. We can threaten violence if the decision goes against us. The Romans won’t want a riot at Passover time, that won’t go down well in Rome either. And the Jewish authorities will like a riot even less, so they’ll be on our side. They’ll happily push Pilatus to let Barabbas go in order to get their own man.”

My optimism is evaporating. When John said they’d be releasing a prisoner, my hope was kindled. Perhaps the Romans would release him just as this man said they might in order not to have to free this Zealot leader. But if the whole crowd is hostile? What will they do if the Romans give back Joshua to us? This mob looks as though it might get violent.

“Come, both of you, let’s try to get nearer to the palace entrance so we can hear what’s going on. We won’t hear anything back here.”

So we try to push through the crowd. We are jostled and shoved and men look angrily at us as we try to advance. But we persevere until we are near the front and have a good view of the portico and veranda above it. John says that apparently the Romans produce the prisoner they are to release there in full view of the crowd in order to milk the maximum goodwill from the Jews. They normally have some sort of rebel whose release will be popular. Not usually a man of violence, as this Barabbas apparently is, more often an outspoken advocate for Jewish autonomy or other nuisance, a political prisoner. Joshua apparently would fill this role ideally as far as the Romans are concerned and I have to cling to this faint hope. But I get the feeling that if the Romans don’t produce Barabbas, this crowd is going to turn very ugly. John tells me that we should hide our relief if Joshua is released as the crowd could take out their frustration on us if they think we’re not supporters of their leader.

The sun is beginning to climb into the sky and appears at length above the Temple walls to the east of the city, casting its rays directly onto the palace veranda. There is an expectancy now and the hubbub of the crowd has fallen to a low hum. The announcement is clearly expected any time. Then we notice the door to the veranda is moving. The crowd falls silent. Then the door shuts again and there is a muttering of frustration all around. Then, eventually, the door opens and to everyone’s surprise the guards push out two men in chains into full view of the crowd. My heart lifts when I see one of them is Joshua. He still looks pale and beaten, he has a black eye and his white robe is creased and dirty as well as still having the visible crimson stain where he spilled the wine. The other man, who must be Barabbas, is rough and bearded, he must be about ten years older than Joshua at a guess. He looks defiant and salutes the crowd who let up a great roar and start chanting ‘Barabbas, Barabbas’ and go on and on, until a Roman official holds up his hand, signalling he wants to speak. The chanting carries on for a few more minutes, until eventually it is silenced when Barabbas himself holds up one of his chained arms. The crowd cheers again, then falls silent.

“I, Marcus Aurelius, Chief Administrator of Governor Pontius Pilatus, bring to you two prisoners as it is the custom of our sovereign Roman munificence to the Jewish people to release a prisoner in honour of your great annual festival.”

He pauses while cheers let rip once more. Are they going to release both prisoners this year? Is that why Joshua and Barabbas have been paraded before us? Then my hopes are dashed.

“This year the Governor has instructed me to bring two prisoners before you so that you, the Jewish people, can make a choice. To my left is the Zealot brigand Joshua bar Abbas, a native of the town of Bethlehem in Judea, found guilty of murder, robbery with violence against many Jews as well as against the forces of your Tetrarch Herod Antipas and the Roman Emperor, and sentenced to be executed by crucifixion. To my right is your so-called King of the Jews, the prophet Yeshua ben Josef, native of the village of Nazareth in Galilee, who has been accused by the Jewish religious authorities of blasphemy, for which they seek the sentence of death. The Governor offers one of these men to your mercy with a strong recommendation to release Yeshua ben Josef as he has not been found guilty of any crime against Roman law.”

As soon as he’s said this there is uproar. Shouts of ‘Barabbas’ rise in a crescendo and wave after wave of noise swamps the forum. I realise that nearly all these men are Jewish nationalists, hundreds of them, supporters of the Zealot leader, and they will call for Barabbas no matter what the Romans recommend. In fact, by pushing the case for our Joshua’s release, they have further inflamed the crowd. This band of extremists will not be quelled. The Chief Administrator is trying to stop the shouting, but it goes on for minutes until the Roman soldiers guarding the palace entrance seize a couple of the crowd and threaten to kill them unless the noise subsides. When this Marcus can make himself heard, he steps forward once again.

“Which of these two men do you wish Governor Pilatus to release? Joshua bar Abbas or Yeshua ben Josef?”

It’s hopeless. Mary, John and I shout Yeshua as loudly as we can but our voices are drowned by the tumult around us as ‘Barabbas!” is screamed by everyone. I don’t even think those immediately around us heard our call. Just three small voices against the throng. Did no-one else call for Joshua? Where are the other disciples? Where is the crowd who came to cheer him in the Temple courtyard and on its steps? Where are those whom Joshua healed? Where are those who’d been cheated by the Temple traders whose need for justice Joshua had championed? Perhaps they just don’t know. They don’t know he’s been arrested. They don’t know he’s been brought here to the Governor because the priests and rabbis he’s offended want the Romans to sentence him to death. They don’t know that the Romans release a prisoner every year. Or they don’t know it’s happening now. They don’t know that they could shout for my son, their Messiah. They don’t know…

The cries of ‘Barabbas’ go on and on and on. The Chief Administrator looks concerned. He gives an order and the guards seize the two prisoners and drag them back inside the palace. The crowd roars its disapproval and boos loudly. The crowd then starts chanting rhythmically, ‘Barabbas, Barabbas, we want Barabbas’. Minutes pass. The crowd is still chanting, louder than ever. I notice now that there are priests and rabbis in the crowd and they are shouting as loudly as the rest. Eventually the door reopens, and the Chief Administrator appears accompanied by an imposing individual dressed in a white toga. It must be the Governor himself.

A hush suddenly descends on the expectant crowd. The official steps forward again. The prisoners are not in sight.

“By order of the Governor, I ask you. Who should be released? What is you will……?”

Before he can finish, the shout begins, ‘Barabbas, we want Barabbas!’ The Chief Administrator battles on trying to make himself heard above the din.

“Do you wish the Governor to release your king, your Messiah, who is guilty of no act of violence or the murderer and bandit, Barabbas?”

The noise from the crowd increases until it is deafening. They are all screaming for the Zealot leader. There is a hurried consultation between Marcus Aurelius and Governor Pilatus and then the Governor makes a rapid exit back inside his palace. There is a hiatus at the palace balustrade, but the crowd continues to call for Barabbas. The Chief Administrator calls for silence and eventually the noise subsides sufficiently for those near the front of the crowd to hear him declaim.

“The Governor has decided in accordance with your wishes to release Joshua bar Abbas.” The announcement is greeted with a huge cheer from those who’ve heard it, and as the news ripples round the audience the volume of cheering and applause swells swamping all other noise. Marcus Aurelius has continued to speak but almost unnoticed by the crowd. I hear him say, “And what is your wish for the fate of your Messiah?” Those nearby who catch what he says start to yell back, ‘Kill him, crucify him!” Others shout, “He’s a fake, a blasphemer, he’s no Messiah of ours.” I notice that a bevy of white-robed priests and rabbis are in the front, leading this call and others nearby repeat the refrain. Mary is screaming ‘No’ by now but no-one can hear her. I’m confused, I’m suddenly exhausted, everything is very blurred, then I feel John holding me firmly by the arm.

“Mariam, Mari, can you hear me? Hold tight, I’ll get you out of here. Take deep breaths.” I can hear Mary vaguely in the background. She’s wailing, shouting ‘No, no, he’s innocent. You’re condemning an innocent man,’ but nobody is taking any notice of her. There is a sudden roar and I manage to ask John for its meaning.

“Barabbas has been brought out and they’re removing his chains. It’s a travesty of justice. I thought the Romans were in charge. I never thought they’d be swayed by a crowd like this one. Come, Mari, there’s no point in waiting here. We must go and tell the others.”

“No, John. We must do something!”

Mary joins me. “Please, John, we must protest to the Governor.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. We must do something.”

John hesitates a moment, then, with us in tow, approaches one of the soldiers guarding the entrance to the palace.

“We need to see the Governor. A grave injustice has been done. You’ve just condemned an innocent man.” At first the soldier does not answer, so John repeats his request.

“Go away before you get arrested. The Governor has decreed. He won’t change his mind. You heard the crowd. They’re convinced of the man’s guilt, so the Governor’s hardly likely to change his mind.”

“But he’s innocent!”

“Get lost. If Pilatus says he’s guilty, then he’s guilty.”

“But he didn’t. It’s the jealous Jewish priests who want him condemned. They must have bribed witnesses to provide evidence against him.”

“If you don’t go away this minute I’ll arrest you for rebellion against the Roman Governor. Then you can be crucified alongside your innocent Messiah if you insist on calling him that. You’re becoming a nuisance. Go away.”

“No, I want to see the Governor!” I surprise myself with the boldness of my words.

“And the same applies to you, old woman. We may not crucify silly old women yet but we’ve a few decomposing in damp and dirty cells and you can join them if you insist on your stupid protest. And you!” he says looking at Mary, “although some of the guards will enjoy your favours first before you’re slung into the pit.”

“Mary, Mariam, you must come away. You will not save Joshua this way. Perhaps he’ll save himself. You know the powers he has. If he really wanted to use his powers to save himself, he could, you know….”