" 'Messiahs', my lady," I informed her. "But, alas, there is nothing new or sudden about this plague of messiahs. They appear spontaneously out of the body politic, like maggots on diseased meat, whenever political unrest, economic deprivation, or religious reformation stalks this unhappy land. But over the last ten years or so there's been a spate of them. Hardly a day passes without some new 'cristo' entering the city with his handful of fanatic followers, curing hypochondriacs, slipping red powder into water and calling it wine, hypnotizing away the pangs of hunger, and claiming the hungry host has been fed, raising the dead-the dead drunk, usually-in short, all the usual ruses and shams."

"But why do all of them truck out the same tired old stunts? Sheer lack of imagination?"

"Not quite, my lady. They have no option but to perform the same 'miracles' because all Jews are familiar with the writings of their prophets who, down through the ages, have described the long-awaited Messiah. Each would-be messiah knows what utterances and acts and 'miracles' he must perform to fulfill the prophesies. I should be very surprised if there were not half a dozen of them out there in the streets at this very moment, all performing their miracles, all preaching, all thumbing their noses at the religious establishment, each one claiming to be the fruit of a virgin birth and descended from the obligatory family of Jesse, each followed by his coterie of bemused disciples."

"But how can it be that Jews, famed the world over for their intelligence, are taken in by these rabble-rousing charlatans?" Claudia Procula asked. "In the long catalogues of opprobrium heaped on the heads of the Jews, one never hears the word 'gullible'!"

"Ah, but they are a uniquely gullible people, my lady! Both devious and gullible."

"Is there not a logical contradiction there?" my master wondered.

"Of course there is, my lord. Contradiction is the distinguishing essence of all Levantine peoples but Jewish gullibility has a particular character of its own. The Jew is too quick-witted to be duped by others; but he often dupes himself. And how can this be? Because the Jew is a constant and willing victim of Hope."

"The Jew as a victim of Hope? Well, there's an interesting concept... if somewhat fanciful," my master's wife said.

"Fanciful if you will, my lady, but..." I began, but she had turned away to bestow her attention on other guests, so I continued to my master, "...but, sire, this addiction to hope explains why the most grasping, materialistic merchant will sacrifice everything for a chimera, a gesture, a phantom, a promise writ in sand... in short, a hope. The hope implied in his calling this arid heap of sand his 'Promised Land'. The hope enshrined in his famous deal with his god: the Covenant. Threaten his treasured hopes, and overnight the plodding, prudent Jew becomes a fanatic. An enthusiast! A rhapsodist! A zealot!"

"I'm perfectly aware of the contradictions in the Jewish character, Greek. And know what traps and snares those contradictions pose. But I am curious, and curiosity is a powerful lure for a bored man. Above all, these 'oiled ones' fascinate me, both as individuals and as a general phenomenon."

"I hope my lord recalls how the asp fascinates its victim before stinging him to death. Above all, never for a minute forget that the Jew is always willing-nay, eager!-to become a martyr, for the Jew has a marrow-deep appetite for martyrdom, and for martyring others with his martyrdom. Therein lies a great danger to you."

"To me?"

"Well, to Rome, if you'd rather. But in this place and at this time, you areRome."

"May Rome admit to being confused?"

"I should be distressed if you were not, my lord. After all, it is my role to amuse by dazzling with the complexity of my insights."

"It is also your role to share your insights and unravel those complexities. I perceive a certain archness of tone that ill becomes a slave... even the most complex and insightful one."

"I am warned, my lord. And most thoroughly chastened." I lowered my eyes and retreated into a respectful silence.

"Well?"

"I beg your pardon, my lord? Did you speak to me?" I asked, all innocent wonder.

"Damn it, Greek! First you wound with your superiority, then you punish with your humility! Are you sure there's no Jewish blood in you?"

Although my smile did not desert my lips, my heart stopped for an instant. Had he inadvertently stumbled upon the truth of my origins? (If you think, dear Reader, that only Gentiles harbor anti-Semitism, then you don't appreciate the complex and involute reactions a person can have to years of scorn, ridicule, and humiliation.) When I realized that he had only meant to be amusing, I recovered smoothly with, "Ah, but I was merely warning my master that in dealing with these messiahs one must be wary of the Jewish tendency to martyrdom... a martyrdom the Jew's adversary might get to share with him, if he is not careful, for when the Jew throws himself off a cliff, he is usually holding the tunic of his enemy in his iron grip."

Pilatus chuckled. "I'll keep my tunic close wrapped. Now, then! I believe we have made the priests of the Sanhedrin wait long enough to give them a sense of their relative insignificance. Let us have a look at the captive messiah." The Procurator rose from his couch and lifted his hand to arrest the rising of his guests. "No, no. Continue your festivities, gentlemen. I'll return in a few moments. Claudia, I know I can rely on you to entertain our guests." She communicated her annoyance with an almost imperceptible compression of her lips, but old diplomatic hand that she was, she dutifully began to tease an oft-heard story out of the senior officer present as Pilatus and I stepped out onto the landing at the top of the wide staircase that led from the Praetorium down to the Judgment Hall.

Below us stood a knot of chief priests and scribes surrounded by a gawking crowd eager to witness pain and punishment. And there before the religious leaders, his head down, was a young man in a dirty, travel-stained gown of cheap cloth. They had brought him from Caiaphas after accusing him of blasphemy in that he claimed to be the Son of God. They had bound his arms and blindfolded him; then they had struck him on the face and asked, "If thou art indeed the omniscient son of the omniscient God, then say which of us it was that smote thee." And when he would not, or could not, they had mocked him, saying, "And yet you claim to be the Messiah! The anointed one that our people have so long awaited!" The prisoner had answered only, "No matter what I told you, you would not believe me, nor would you let me go," so they brought him to be judged before the Procurator.

Upon the appearance of Pontius Pilatus at the head of the stairs, the priests and scribes brought their prisoner halfway up the stairs leading to the Praetorium-well, to be exact, they brought him one step less than halfway up, so they could avoid any accusation of having entered a place wherein Gentiles were desecrating the Passover by eating leavened bread.

Pilatus looked down upon them and spoke, and I can remember his words exactly, because I was obliged to repeat them in translation. For the smoothness of my account, I shall henceforth assume you understand that everything that was said passed through me. Pilatus said, "What accusation bring ye against this man?"

"He has blasphemed, calling himself the son of God!"

The Procurator shrugged. "Is that so serious? Are not all of us the children of our gods, in a way of speaking? But if you feel that he has offended your cult, then take him and punish him according to your customs."

Seeing that Pilatus had no intention of accepting the responsibility of punishing this poor fellow over some trivial matter of local cult sensitivities, the chief priest took another tack. "This man has been perverting the nation, claiming to be King of the Jews and forbidding the people to give tribute to Caesar. We would punish this treason against your worship and against Rome, but you have made it unlawful for us to put any man to death."