Ananias made a sign to the two Temple guards standing beside Saul and one struck him violently in the mouth, and Saul staggered. But he did not take his eyes from the High Priest. He said, “God shall smite you, you whited wall, for sitting to judge me after the Law and command me to be smitten contrary to the Law!”
Some members of the Sanhedrin shouted, “Do you dare to revile the High Priest?”
Saul looked at them bitterly and said in a strong voice, “I would not, brethren, that he was the High Priest! For it is written, You shall not speak evil of the ruler of your people.”
The Roman captain and several of his men had insisted that they be in the Chamber with Saul, and they stood at a distance near the tall gilded doors, and the captain smiled in approval of Saul’s bold words. Truly, this was a Roman and not a meek Jew!
Saul, in the meantime, had been scrutinizing his judges, and he saw that many were Sadducees and many were Pharisees. Now he gave all his attention to his fellow Pharisees, for he still had a detestation of the worldly and atheistic Sadducees.
His voice was still stronger when he addressed the Pharisees only:
“Men and brethren! I am a Pharisee, the son of a Pharisee! Of the hope and the resurrection of the dead I am called in question!”
This was an astute appeal, for the Sadducees did not believe in any life hereafter nor did they believe in the resurrection of the dead, and the issue was still bitter between them and the Pharisees, whom they loathed. So the Pharisees glanced in consternation at each other, and one whispered, “He has preached the resurrection of the dead, in accordance with the teachings of his fathers, and for this should he be held guilty?”
Suddenly Saul and all that he was was of lesser importance to the Pharisees than the Sadducees, who believed in no life nor angel nor spirit, and the ancient enmity bristled up among the Pharisees. They glared at the Sadducees, who stared back in cold contempt. Why had this man been brought before the Sanhedrin? True, it was said he was a Nazarene, but he was also a Pharisee of a noble house, and had never repudiated his people nor his sect, but had merely tried to bring the truth to the misbegotten Gentiles. Was that so sore a crime? Had not the Pharisees for ages proselyted among the Gentiles, bringing thousands of them into the House of Israel, and had they refrained only now because the Romans had commanded them to refrain?
The Scribes among the Pharisees were suddenly enraged that Saul, who was a Pharisee, was being judged by these Sadducees, and that he had been attacked in the holy Temple by order of them and almost murdered by the market rabble, and that—shame of shames!—he had had to be rescued by the heathen Romans from his own people! And he had been thrust into prison. All the other charges made against Saul through the years in Israel were forgotten.
So the Scribes of the Pharisees, the intellectuals, who disdained brutality and violence, stood up with a great and angry cry, shouting, “We find no evil in this man! But if an angel or a spirit has spoken to him, let us not fight against God!”
Instantly, Saul was totally forgotten. The Sadducees rose from their seats and began a furious debate with the Pharisees, so loud and so full of gestures, that the captain was fearful again for the life of this Roman citizen who had shown no fear of those who could have ordered his death. So he advanced with his men and took hold, politely, of Saul and they led him from the Chamber. None saw them go, for now the disputants had come to blows, intellectual Scribes and all, gentlemen and scholars, and the captain glanced back once and grinned. The High Priest, himself, was being jostled by sharp elbows, and his stately hat had been knocked from his head.
When Saul was safely delivered to his comfortable cell in the Fortress the captain sat down on the table and ordered wine for both of them, and fruit and pastries. He simmered with amusement. He scratched his bristling pate; he shook his head. “What immoderate sages and judges!” he remarked. Saul laughed with him. His nose and one of his cheeks were still swollen from the blows he had received last night, and still sore, but he laughed.
“There is none so stupid as the wise, it has been written,” he remarked. He drank the wine and ate thoughtfully of the fruit and pastries. He felt a comfort in the presence of the young Roman, and he began to talk to him of his journeys and his accounts were so fascinating that the captain was reluctant to leave and return to his duties. When the captain was alone, he thought: Why did a man of family and wealth leave his country to travel like a miserable slave among other nations, and to bring them a message of redemption? The young captain had been barely born at the time of the Crucifixion, and he had heard nothing of it until he had been sent to Israel. It was an awesome and beguiling story, and he did not believe in it at all, as he did not believe in the gods. From what should a man be redeemed? From sin and death, said the Nazarenes and this Paul of Tarsus, who was a lawyer and a Roman. The captain was baffled. It was obvious to him that Nazarenes died as easily and as frequently as other men; therefore, where was their deliverance from death? As for sin, the Jews, “faithful” and Nazarene, believed all pleasure was sin, and was that not an absurd doctrine and an insult to the gods who made pleasure their entire existence?
A great tranquillity came to Saul. He had not slept much the night before, because of the pain of his wounds, despite the unguents and lotions the captain had ordered to be put on them for healing. Now a sweet exhaustion came to him and he lay on his cot and began to dream.
He saw the Messias again, the mighty and puissant face, the triumphant and manly eyes, the heroic mouth and the brow radiating golden lightning. And He said to Saul, “Be of good cheer, Saul, for as you have testified of Me in Jerusalem so must you bear witness also at Rome.”
The young captain, Claudius Lysias, was in a quandary. He could not keep Saul forever imprisoned, nor could he release him to the vengeance of the High Priest, Ananias. He was not accustomed to be faced with dilemmas, for life was simple to him. As he was ruminating in his room in the Fortress and drinking wine with melancholy determination, his centurion came to him and said, “Captain, there is a certain man who beseeches to speak with you, and his name is Amos ben Ezekiel, a man of distinction and family and of apparent wealth, for his garments are rich, and he declares that he is the nephew of Paul of Tarsus and had arrived in Jerusalem only last night. He is also a physician, and a citizen of Rome.”
“Ha,” said the captain, conjecturing that perhaps his dilemma was at an end. “Bring him to me at once.”
The visitor entered and at his aspect the Roman captain rose slowly, for Amos was tall and dignified and clad in blue and scarlet silk and he wore jewels on his hands and his sandals were gilded. His hair and his beard were a mingling of soft gold and white, for Amos was no longer young but in his early middle age. His air of majesty and pride and assurance merited the young captain’s respect, and he touched his forehead slightly in a quick salute, and offered his visitor a chair, and ordered wine.
Amos smiled at him gravely and seated himself, and the captain saw the nobility of his features and the quietness of his manner. “I thank you, Captain Lysias, for receiving me. I have heard that you have treated my uncle, Saul ben Hillel, with kindness and discretion and that twice you have saved his life. May I present you with a token of my esteem?” And he removed a beautiful jewel on his finger and laid it on the table. The captain flushed. “I did but my duty, lord,” he said. Amos smiled again.
“But should not duty be rewarded? I beg of you to accept it. Otherwise I will be greatly insulted, and my uncle insulted, that you did not accept the sign of our gratitude.”
Amos spoke in the most perfect Latin. The captain remembered that his visitor was a Roman citizen, and one did not insult Romans. So he said, “I accept, with answering gratitude,” and in a twinkling the ring was in his pouch, and Amos repressed an indulgent smile.
“I have distressing news,” said Amos, “and it must be told quickly. This morning I heard that a band of men, forty, have joined together—at whose behest you may conjecture—and have
sworn a blood oath to the High Priest and the elders, saying, ‘We have bound ourselves under a great curse, that we will eat nothing until we have slain Saul ben Hillel.’ So, the High Priest has directed a messenger to come to you before sunset, requesting your prisoner to be brought before the Sanhedrin in the Temple early in the morning, to inquire something more perfectly concerning him. But my uncle will never reach the Temple, for the men are to lie in wait for him and murder him in the streets.”
“But he is a Roman!” cried the captain, outraged, and laying his hand on his sword. “They would not dare murder a Roman before he is tried and condemned!”
Amos inclined his head and made a slight and eloquent gesture with his hand. “Nevertheless, that is what these cutthroats intend to do, and they will disappear like locusts after the field is bare, and none will dare claim to have seen them.”
The captain flung himself into a chair, propped his elbow on the table, rested his chin on his fist and scowled at the wall, muttering under his breath. He could deal with simple military stratagems but not with villainous civilians. Amos cleared his throat. “Would it not be best to send my uncle to some safe spot, quickly and silently? In short, at once?”
“Ha!” said Claudius Lysias, and struck the table with the flat of his hand. He shouted for his centurion, who came immediately, and the captain demanded pen and parchment and wax for his seal and a candle. He began to write, slowly and laboriously, and with flourishes, and when he had finished and dusted sand over the ink and had shaken the parchment free, he gave the message to Amos.
“Claudius Lysias at Jerusalem to the most excellent Governor Felix sends greetings:
“This prisoner was taken of the Jews and should have been killed of them. Then came I with an army, and rescued him, having understood that he was a Roman. I would know the cause wherefore they accused him, and so I brought him forth to their court. I learned he was accused of questions of their Law, but to have nothing laid to his charge worthy of death or of bonds. Now I have learned that a band of murderers are lying in wait for him in the morning, and so I am sending him to you for safety, and will tell his accusers to appear before you to say what they have against him. Farewell.”
Amos’ mouth quirked a little at the youthful militarism of the message, but admitted to himself that it told the story, if bluntly. He said, “Captain Lysias, you are a noble Roman, indeed, and my cousin, who is also cousin to my uncle, and a general of the Praetorian Guard in Rome—Titus Milo Platonius—will hear of your acts and your precision by my own hand.”
The captain’s jaw dropped and he goggled at Amos. “Titus Milo Platonius? Why was I not informed of this before?” He turned violently red. “To think that that abominable High Priest dared to order the death of the cousin of that great and distinguished General, whose name is famous in Rome, as were the names of his fathers! This is an insult which must be washed out in blood!” He sprang to his feet. Amos had never seen, a man foam before but he saw it now. He lifted his hand quickly, for bloodletting was not what he had had in mind.
“Captain Lysias,” he said, “my cousin, for all he is a heroic man and a great soldier and a Roman of enormous pride, is also a man of discretion. You know how inflammable are my people, and how they are tormented these days by the High Priest and his minions. Any action taken against them, or even that disgusting Ananias, would cause my uncle, Saul ben Hillel, the greatest suffering, for these are his people despite all. So General Platonius would not command action to injure them, out of his love for Saul.”
“I do not understand such a love!” shouted the captain, and struck the table again.
Amos bent his head in an attitude of affirmation. “Nor do I,” he said, and prayed internally that God would forgive his mendacity. “Alas, but that is the situation.”
The captain, still engorged with rage, gave Amos a dark glance, then sealed the letter with unnecessary vigor and summoned his centurion again and gave the letter to him. He said, “Make ready two hundred soldiers to go to Caesarea, and horsemen threescore and ten, and spearmen two hundred, at the third hour of the night, and provide them with horses, that they may take Saul ben Hillel whom we call Paul of Tarsus, our distinguished prisoner, and bring him safe unto Felix the Governor.” (Acts 23:23-30)
Amos was awed by this tremendous protection of his uncle, and then begged to see Saul, and the captain took him to the cell and opened the door with a flourish. Saul started up from his cot and blinked at Amos, and did not immediately recognize him, for he had not seen him for many years. Then he uttered a great cry of joy and flung himself into Amos’ arms, and they kissed and embraced, and wept together, and even the captain was moved. Surely this Paul of Tarsus was a great man, and a worthy Roman. The captain fingered the ring in his pouch. There was a certain little villa just outside the Equestrian Gate in Rome of which he had been dreaming, and a certain lovely girl.
The governor, or Procurator, Felix, was an impatient little man with a swart and active face and a more active body. Like many small men he was arrogant and belligerent. He had a detestation for intricacies and details, and would bluntly say to petitioners, “Yes, yes, but what is the central request? Why do you annoy me with trivialities and explanations?” As it was in Jewish nature to explain and elaborately explain again, so that no point of importance would be overlooked, and all subtleties arranged, Felix disliked the Jews no less than had done Pontius Pilate, though his wife was a Jewess. He would point to the water clock when a delegation was before him, assign a limit on it and declare that beyond that mark they would no longer be heard. At the appointed hour, even in the midst of an involved argument, he would rise and bustle to his girls, and return no more.
When Saul had been delivered to him he had frowned and scratched his hairy neck and had said, “Lysias can find no fault with you. But the Jews have complaints, and I have heard them long before you were brought to Caesarea. Therefore, as the Procurator, I am bound to hear them out, and I will hold you so that they may make an appearance before me. However, if you have violated no Roman law, as a Roman, I am not concerned with other charges which do not apply to you—as a Roman.”
He took a liking to Saul for Saul had not immediately rushed into elaborate explanations and defenses, but had merely bowed as one reasonable man to another. So he confined him to Herod’s Hall in Caesarea, and it was really a small but handsome house with gardens on a hillside overlooking the shining plain of the sea and the great twin harbors, one receiving cargo from the swinging ships and one loading with cargo. Saul had but one guard, an elderly subaltern, and one servant, an old woman of the town, a wise ancient Jewess who prepared his simple meals. Here he lived in peace and quiet and meditation, and waited, and found his depleted strength returning. He would sit for hours on the low stone wall that looked out to sea and watch the seething water traffic and it reminded him of Tarsus, and he sighed. He wrote many letters, in the little cool atrium, and Felix was good-natured enough to send them on their way, after he had scrutinized them with bewilderment. They were all to the multitude of churches which Saul had founded or expanded and the rapturous yet sensible language vaguely intrigued the Procurator, who like poetry.
After some time, as Felix feared, the Jewish delegations from the High Priest began to arrive with long and detailed accounts of Saul’s transgressions of the Jewish Law. Felix listened with his exaggerated air of long patience. He said, “Enough. My prisoner is a Roman, and your complaints are all ecclesiastical. Yet your own Sanhedrin has not condemned him with any specific charge. You are dismissed.”
So the High Priest, Ananias came to Caesarea with a man of great eloquence, an orator named Tertullus. Felix said at once, “If these are more ecclesiastical complaints I will not hear them. If you have a charge against my prisoner concerning Roman law, then I will hear you, if you do not tax my patience with irrelevancies.”
Tertullus bowed. He said, “Lord, I, too, am a Roman citizen as well as a Jew. I revere Rome. We desire to live in peac
e with her. My charges against Paul of Tarsus are concerned with Roman law.”
Felix glanced at Ananias. He detested the High Priest, who was not only tall but had a patrician appearance, which he, Felix, did not. Moreover, Ananias did not hold Felix in high regard and this was evident in the cold gleam of his blue eyes and the expression about his mouth. Felix waited for the High Priest to speak, but Ananias waited for Tertullus.
Tertullus said, “Lord, since you came to Israel we have enjoyed great quietness, and very worthy deeds were done to this nation by your providence. We accept it always, and in all places, most noble Felix, with all thankfulness.
“I will not be tedious, and hope that in your clemency you will hear my few words. For we have found this man, Saul of Tarshish, a pestilent fellow, and a mover of sedition among all the Jews throughout the world, and a ringleader of the sect of the Nazarenes, who have also gone about to profane the Temple. We took him, and would have judged him according to our Law, but Captain Lysias came upon us and with violence took him out of our hands. He then commanded this man’s accusers to come to you, by examining of whom you may have knowledge of these things.” (Acts 24:1-8)
Felix motioned to Saul to speak, and Saul said, “Captain Lysias used no more violence than was necessary to save my life, lord.” This pleased Felix, for it vexed him to have Roman soldiers criticized. He smiled at Saul and motioned him to continue. Saul denied the charges of sedition. He declared that no one had found him in the Temple disputing or quarreling with any man, nor did he incite the people nor had ever incited the people against Rome, nor had he profaned any law whatsoever, Jewish or Roman. (Acts 24:10-16)
Saul then challenged Ananias directly to deny these things, but Felix wearily raised his small dark hand and said, “He will only repeat what other delegations have said against you, Paul of Tarsus, and none of these things are relevant to a Roman.”