Judas the Galilean

Judas the Galilean was born on the camel's hump. The high ridge overlooking the Sea of Galilee from the east was shaped like one, and the village of Gamla climbed steeply along its side. Gamla lay at the edge of the promised land, between Israel and Syria, a frontier against foreigners—more so than lower Galilee, situated near the lake and crossed by many foreign roads. In Gamla, people were as rugged as the terrain around them, with God and country at the center of their impoverished lives. "How will God find you, brother?" was a common question before meals, as well as in the streets and in the synagogue.

The town's rabbi, Rabbi Seddok, taught his people from the holy books and despised the liberal interpretations and decadent lifestyles of the priests in Jerusalem. "The priests grow wealthy by serving Rome. The temple is defiled by the godless Herodians. God is angry with Israel for every day they remain idle." Such were the recurring themes of his sermons.

Seddok's sermons were meant to inflame. The people of Gamla were fueled by the ancient stories of Israel's righteous kings—kings who struck down the irreligious, slew corrupt priests, and cleansed the land of impurity so that God might once again come in His clouds of glory. God, they believed, always preserved a faithful remnant. Elijah had wept in isolation until the Lord reminded him that seven thousand men had not bowed the knee to Baal. Then Elijah ascended the mountaintop to confront the wicked priests, and in time both they and their benefactress, Jezebel, perished. Such were the stories told to children at bedtime. Such were the hopes: that Elijah would return, or that the Messiah would appear and sweep the land clean of the wicked.

Seddok, ever wondering who the Messiah might be, whispered his hopes into the ears of earnest young boys. "Might you be the Messiah?" he would ask, as they pored over scraps of Scripture, muttering select passages again and again, rocking back and forth in spiritual ecstasy. In Gamla, the most devoted of these boys were carefully groomed. Few excelled beyond their peers, for the standards were strict and ruthless. Judas excelled even above the few.

As a child, his devotion to the study of Torah was so great that he was often found at night touching the wall of the synagogue, muttering his passages and weeping. When his mother forbade him to go out after dark, Judas found a bare place on the floor of the family hovel and prayed toward Jerusalem. "Freedom for Your holy city, God of my fathers. Rid the land of infidels. Let the nations come to grovel at our feet!"

His father was a poor husbandman, and his mother struggled to feed his seven siblings, but Seddok found this poverty to be in Judas's favor—was not David a shepherd? Did not the prophet Amos lament his lowly state as a dresser of fig trees? Poverty, he believed, kept a Jew pure. Riches corrupted the heart of every man who gained them. And so Seddok spent ever longer hours with Judas as he grew into young manhood.

On the occasion of Judas's thirteenth birthday, Seddok invoked a psalm of David, chanting the verses as the people responded.

The rabbi's sons did not listen with pleasure to Judas, knowing that much of their father's affection rested on him. Yet most in Gamla held Judas in great esteem and wondered what he might become. In the coming future, all agreed a savior would be needed. But for now, the plundering cruelty of the tyrant king Archelaus was limited to mostly Jerusalem and lower Galilee. For Rabbi Seddok, the time for Judas to appear was not far away. Tiny Gamla, nestled in the mountains of Gaulanitis, was a safe harbor to watch and wait.

Twenty years later, in the thirty-second year of his reign, Caesar Augustus decreed from Rome a re-consolidation of his eastern provinces. To Syria he appointed Publius Quirinius as governor. Former commander of the four legions of the East, Quirinius had ruthlessly suppressed uprisings in Galatia and kept the Parthian Empire in check along Rome's eastern frontier. This mountainous region—more difficult to control even than Gaul—had vital supply routes that wound through it and needed constant protection. Quirinius had spent the flower of his youth, more than twenty years, battling insurgents, negotiating tribal politics, and replacing local tyrants with others more compliant to Rome's will. At the time of his appointment, revolts against Roman rule throughout the realm were on the decline. For a job well done, Augustus promoted Quirinius to the hardest job in the realm.

From Antioch, Quirinius governed a vast swath of territory that included Jerusalem, Damascus, Tyre, and Sidon. In his first official act as governor, with the approval of Caesar and the Senate, he deposed Herod Archelaus, son of Herod the Great. Harsh as King Archelaus was—slayer of three thousand Passover pilgrims gathered in Jerusalem as a start to his reign—it was the chaos of the region that ultimately led to his removal. Rome tolerated tyranny and violence so long as they produced order and a steady stream of revenue. Under Archelaus, however, taxes fell sharply even as he himself lived lavishly.

Still, he might have continued in his reign despite all this, were it not for his blatant violation of Jewish law in marrying the widow of his executed half-brother, Alexander. The Jewish leaders deemed this act unpardonable, and from the beginning they sent delegations to Rome to protest—crimes that, in their view, warranted his immediate removal.

Archelaus was therefore sent into exile in Gaul along with his forbidden wife and was never heard from again. Quirinius appointed Coponius as the first procurator of Judea, establishing his headquarters in Caesarea Maritima, where he would rule until replaced by Pontius Pilate a few years later.

Caesarea Maritima was nearly an impossible dream. Few decent ports existed south of Antioch in Syria or north of Egypt. But Herod the Great determined to change this. He did not improve an ancient harbor—he remade the coast itself. Built in honor of Augustus and named Sebastos, skilled engineers from Italy employed thousands of laborers to construct wooden caissons that were floated out over the shallow waters, filled with stone, and sunk into position. The breakwaters, made of hydraulic concrete that hardened even while submerged, enclosed a vast harbor fringed with piers.

The city itself rose behind the Sebastos Harbor in Roman fashion: paved boulevards, columned porticoes, a grand palace for the governor, a theater cut facing the sea. Fresh water streamed along aqueducts carried by a network of arched stone running nearly twenty miles from the Carmel mountain range to the north.

Coponius occupied the palace, also called the praetorium, thus setting a precedent for all procurators who followed. None would choose to stay in Jerusalem except during the major feast days or in an emergency. Herod had built them a slice of Rome, and so they ruled Judea from there.

A month into office, Coponius was summoned by Quirinius to Antioch who intended to make Judea more profitable for Rome. Coponius departed Caesarea Maritima at the beginning of March with a large cohort of auxiliary soldiers, riding on horseback. The route carried him north along the coastal highway known as the Via Maris, then east across Samaria and into the hilly regions of Galilee. Until they reached Galilee's frontier, Coponius and his troops were hailed as saviors. Villagers lined the roads to scatter palm branches before the horses, which trampled them into the mud. At intervals Coponius signaled his approval with a raised hand. Turning to his adjutant, he remarked, "I've never seen a people so happy to be subjected."

The adjutant, Lucretius, answered without enthusiasm, "They hope we will humiliate the Jews."

Coponius rose in the saddle and stretched his legs. He towered over the groveling people around him, whom he regarded as filthy and barbaric. "I suppose the Greeks have not fully supplanted oriental politics."

Lucretius sighed. It was his second year in Judea, and he often thought of the future, when he might carry away the wealth Archelaus had bribed him with. Much of it had already been invested in a pleasant home and property in the upper hills of Corinth overlooking the gulf. As they passed out of the Samaritan village and began to climb into the hills, Coponius glanced over at Lucretius, who emerged from his reverie and said, "Where religion rules, politics follow."

"So I am told," Coponius replied. "I have yet to visit Jerusalem and its famed temple. Could it compare to anything on the Palatine?"

"Justly so," said Lucretius. "And yet unfinished, but still magnificent."

"And the Samaritans travel there to worship?"

"They do not. Jerusalem and its temple are illegitimate. They go to a mountain near Sabeste, where their own temple is—though a crude building compared with that in Jerusalem."

"Then the Samaritans would have us prefer them over the Jews?" asked Coponius.

Lucretius smiled grimly, then said, "They would have us butcher them down to the last infant girl."

"On account of religion?" Coponius said amazed. He believed in nothing but the power of Rome and destiny. The gods of Rome held no awe for him as with most of his rank.

By evening the sun had slipped behind them as they descended the hills. They chose to make camp at a crossroads, and Lucretius barked orders. Soldiers dismounted and fanned out into the trees and brush, searching for firewood—and for hostiles. They rose before sunrise and by mid-afternoon finished the last cut-back at the base of the coastal mountains. A vast plain stretched before them and the day was hot and humid with no relief from the sun in sight. They traveled west until coming to a great body of water that stretched far to the north and south of them. The opposing east shore could be seen for the lake was long but narrow.

They turned north on the Via Maris that hugged the western shoreline. Lucretius had his cape hanging over his head for shade, as the cohort walked their horses slowly. He said to Coponius, "This lake some call a sea. Naturally after the region."

They began to pass fishing villages where boats of various sizes lay beached along the shoreline. Nets and fishing tackle were dried and stretched, scrubbed and oiled, as the cohort went by. The fishermen barely looked up from their work, long accustomed to the steady flow of Roman traffic and caravans along the Via Maris. The homes were mud-walled, with thatched roofs and one or two tiny windows from which the dirty faces of women and children peered. In the green fields behind the villages, women stooped over the soil, searching leafy vines for ripe grapes.

"Seems a verdant place," Coponius said.

"The climate here is remarkable," Lucretius replied. "Cool enough for walnuts, yet warm enough for olives. Nearly anything can grow. There is even a salted fish they export throughout the empire—a favorite delicacy among some of Rome's upper classes. Tarichos, or some word like that. And I should not fail to mention the region's viticulture. That is what you see those women tending. Beyond this shore and west toward the mountains we just descended is called the Plain of Gennesaret. The wine here is superb, even by our own standards."

"That is a claim!" laughed Coponius. "I am from Campania, which you must know."

Lucretius smiled as the procurator looked at him as though he were mad. "You must try it yourself. It is not as heady as the wines of your homeland, but it is very sweet and agreeable. It is a regional commodity, so it does not compete in the markets of Greece or Egypt—or Rome. But I believe it could."

Coponius laughed again, then said, "We drink what comes to hand—water, if we are desperate."

The two men shared a laugh, and Lucretius trotted his horse forward to order a brief halt, allowing the soldiers to rest and water both themselves and their mounts. Coponius watched boats far out on the lake, their silhouettes marked by fishermen plying their trade. Beyond the water, on the eastern shore, a wall of mountains rose ominously against the sky. "I like not the aspect of that line of mountains. How steep it rises above the lake."

Lucretius nodded looking gravely over the water, "That is Gaulanitis. Ever a harbor of rebels and bandits. It is best left to itself since nothing of value grows there."

Later that night they made camp beneath a dark sky speckled with stars. The air was chill, so soldiers and officers slept close to the fire—and close to one another—while sentries kept watch until their turn came to rest.

When they rose and resumed their march north, the road was crowded with caravans of donkeys, camels, and slaves, burdened with heavy loads and trudging slowly before their taskmasters. Lucretius guessed they must be either spices from the far east, or local produce. Coponius was curious. Pointing to a slow-moving caravan driven by a few men and their sons, he said to Lucretius, "I would see for myself."

Lucretius spurred his horse forward and ordered two soldiers to follow. By the time Coponius caught up, the bags had already been offloaded and the detained men stood beneath the hot sun, irritation plain on their faces under the soldiers' unblinking stare. One soldier kicked at the sacks, which proved to be filled with grain and dried fruits.

The owner muttered something under his breath to which the soldier brought his face close to the other and screamed something unintelligible to the Romans. The bulk of Coponius's force were Idumeans who could not be easily distinguished between their Jewish cousins. If the Jews hated Rome for no other reason, it was their enlisting Idumeans, Samaritans and Aramean as soldiers over them. The Galilean peasant, transporting a years wages, took a grave risk muttering like he did.

Coponius dismounted, waved off the auxiliary soldier, and approached the nearest bag. Another soldier whistled sharply to the peasant and pointed. The man opened the sack, thrust his hand inside, and drew out a handful of grain. He held it toward Coponius, then let it fall slowly back through his fingers into the bag.

The next sack held more grain, and the final two were filled with fragrant wood shavings. Soldiers following behind Coponius jabbed their swords into the bundles, probing for anything hidden beneath the food. Finding nothing, Coponius remounted his horse, and Lucretius signaled his men to let the caravan continue.

The men of the caravan shouted in Aramaic at the younger workers and lashed the animals forward. Once clear of the Roman cohort, they cursed Rome in hushed voices and resolved to send one of their own swiftly to Capernaum with a warning. Maybe someone ahead would avenge them.

In Capernaum, as the troops with Coponius drew nearer, Judas was addressing a crowd gathered on the slope of a small hill. Seddok looked on with pride as the assembly continued to grow.

In the several years since he and Judas had left Gamla, Rabbi Seddok had become highly influential among the Galileans. Despised by the leaders in Jerusalem, he and his followers regarded this hostility as a badge of honor—evidence that they were walking the path of God.

Judas too had grown in strength, wisdom and fame. Outside of Galilee he was known as Judas the Galilean, a pejorative. Seddok had persuaded Judas's parents that Gamla was too remote for such a promising student as their son was. He needed access to the best teachers found only at Capernaum's prominent synagogue with its extensive library. There too were the scrolls of the Law of Moses, the Prophets, The Psalms and the rabbinic Commentaries.

His parents consented and Judas moved with Seddok into Capernaum at the age of fifteen. He began to read. The Law of Moses came first, which he memorized. Then the Prophets, followed by the Psalms. When Judas mastered all these, Seddok grounded him further in the rabbinic commentaries.

Selectively, Seddok assigned Judas to read heathen writers only to expose their falsehoods, and arm his student with a broader knowledge of the world around him. On Judas's thirtieth birthday, Seddok presented him to the elders of Capernaum, who tested his knowledge and agreed with Seddok, that no one was like him. Seddok concluded, "His mind is a limestone cistern coated with plaster—whatever goes in, stays in, and is pure when drawn out."

When Coponius took office, and the Great Sanhedrin in Jerusalem saw his severity, scrutiny was focused on Galilee where trouble might erupt. Word of Seddok and Judas had come and unsettled the rich and mighty of Judea. Lawyers, scribes and Pharisees were dispatched to Capernaum to investigate Seddok and his protégé. What they encountered unsettled them even more. When they returned to Jerusalem, they reported to the council, "The young man is formidable and persuasive. Seddok is promoting him as a candidate for the Messiah."

To the ruling elite, this was no trivial threat.

Judea stood in a precarious transition after King Archelaus was deposed and Roman authority shifted decisively to Caesarea Maritima. Coponius shocked Jerusalem's leaders by ordering two hundred soldiers and their officers to occupy the Fortress Antonia; it was attached to the temple, and overlooked it. Such had to be endured for now. Not long after this, Coponius, acting on the advice of leading merchants from Tyre and Sidon, ordered the high priest's vestments and other sacred furnishings secured inside Antonia under guard. Then the leaders rose as one man and complained bitterly to Coponius. But he was unsympathetic to their pleas and warned them worse could happen still. The vestments were a symbol of authority, so were not to be worn without permission from Rome.

In Coponius's view, Rome had been far too lenient with the Jews. Personally, he detested them. In Rome, they kept to themselves in the dirtiest parts of the city. They shunned Romans like they did pork. They were known to be lazy because they took a day out of the week and did no work—then claimed it was their law. Opposed to the rest of humanity, they mutilated their genitals, and despised those who did not.

They were exempt from the universal tax to Caesar and were not required to swear oaths of loyalty. No Jewish man was conscripted for military service, and the temple precincts were closed to Gentiles. Coponius found it outrageous that any place within Caesar's dominion should be forbidden to Roman banners and ensigns. He even resolved to enter the Holy of Holies himself, but was restrained by the counsel of Lucretius and several leading merchants—Greek proselytes within the city.

Lucretius took him aside later and explained what the temple meant to the Jews, and their religion. "Of course Pompey did what you desired to do," he told his commander. "But that was a different time. The Jews ever plead the outrages to their religion." Lucretius stopped to let Coponius respond if he might, but the procurator looked forward displeased.

Lucretius continued, "They sent many delegations to Caesar until King Archelaus was deposed. We must move more subtle in the future. My sources speak of a thousand talents of gold in the temple treasury at any one time."

Coponius flushed at the magnitude of the figure. Lucretius remained solemn and professional as he spoke, though inwardly he longed for the day when he might despoil this ragged country of more of its wealth. Coponius asked, "How do they come by it?"

"They are scattered throughout the empire, and their talent for making money sends rivers of wealth flowing in the currency of every nation you can name."

Such were the conversations among Israel's oppressors; but the Romans ruled all their subjects equally with a heavy hand. The nations fed Rome's voracious appetite. Grain from Egypt, metals from Spain, timber and slaves from Germania—an elaborate system drew the wealth of the world into Roman coffers. And those who administered it, from the lowest legionnaire to Governor Quirinius himself, found ways to siphon off a share for their own enrichment.

The Jewish leaders could press their complaints only so far. Enriching themselves at the expense of their people, Roman power covered their greed as well. But the delicate balance could be exposed in cases of a serious breach of their laws. Such was the case when Herod the Great erected a golden eagle above an entryway to the temple. Forty conspirators, led by two notable Pharisees, thinking Herod dead, tore it down to the acclaim of many. But Herod was not dead, and so executed them all. The people revolted, and Jerusalem was in turmoil until the heavy boot of Rome stepped in.

What Lucretius sought to protect Coponius from—and, in doing so, himself—was overreaching with the Jews. Anything connected to temple operations, especially money, was dangerous territory.

And just recently, Quirinius had deposed the popular high priest in favor of a more Roman-friendly figure, Ananus son of Seth. So to plunder the temple treasury, or to enter the temple could bring the country crashing down around them—and then no one would grow rich.

Lucretius had served as liaison between King Archelaus and Rome and therefore understood the stakes. "It isn't that their money is untouchable," he said. "It simply requires the right moment. And if history is any guide, the Jews will provide that moment—then you can imagine what might be gained."

He looked at Coponius, who was learning quickly in his new post. Now they were only a few miles from the Galilee village of Capernaum, where the new procurator would learn more.

At that moment in Jerusalem, the high priest Ananus bathed in a marble pool beneath the temple. "Seddok is a madman!" Ananus exclaimed as a servant boy poured hot water over his back, filling the room with steam. He seized the towel around his neck and twisted it until the last rivulets ran down over his flabby paunch. "I don't trust a man who hates money."

Nearby, three other men—members of the Sadducee party—were submerged to their necks in the bath, while servants carried in more vessels of hot water and poured them into the pool. One of them said, "In another year, there will be no Seddok."

Another said, "Galilee is unimportant, Ananus. Nothing will come of it."

A third man added, "They will undo themselves. As they always do."

Ananus was unconvinced. "Seddok dreams of God's wrath descending from heaven. He would gladly see the temple burn a second time—and us priests burn with it. Such ideas they feed on since childhood."

At this, the high priest struck the water with his fist. "It is easy to cast us as villains! We who stand between Rome and the sacred temple. Seddok believes pure religion and a rusty sword will bring God against the Romans. I have seen Rome! These beggars cannot imagine their power."

The other men flushed slightly at his anger, but Ananus could not be restrained. He continued at length until they had grown weary of the bath and climbed out, where servants wrapped them in towels and prepared them for food and drink. One of the men lingered behind to accompany Ananus to the changing room. Quietly, he asked, "Do we have enough, then, to act?"

Ananus glanced nervously to either side, then lowered his head. "Rome is no trifling power—whimsical and incompetent like the Herodian kings. They will crush a nation merely to make a point. I am not quite sure how to proceed as of yet."

"It is possible we can summon Seddok under some pretense?"

"He would not come. It is too late anyhow," Ananus said. "We have eyes on him in Galilee. I think he will fall to the Romans if we let things run their course."

"But how to involve the Romans?"

"That will be my business," Ananus said.

Back in Capernaum Seddok was not ignorant to the machinations of Jerusalem. The lawyers and scribes from the Sanhedrin were a shrewd lot, and their disdain for him and Judas was unmistakable when they came to investigate. The men of Jerusalem possessed the will to destroy him and his Messiah, just as he possessed the will to destroy them. The question for Seddok was urgent: Could he strike first?

As he watched Judas preaching, one of his attendants brought word that Roman soldiers were moving north along the Via Maris. They had already stopped one of the caravans, seizing several sacks of grain. Seddok frowned at the news and wondered whether the time had come to make a stand for freedom. He thought it would be good for Judas to finish early today.

At that moment, Judas cried out to the crowd, "Is the land of Israel free? The holy city? The temple? We are in bondage because of our many sins. Collaborators in priestly garments and rich men's robes grant Rome the freedom to insult our sanctuary, and the people bend their necks to the will of heathens.

"It was not always so, my brothers! Think of days gone by, when the humble priest Mattathias, unable to endure the outrages of Antiochus, stepped forward and struck down his own countryman for sacrificing at a pagan altar. Then he turned on the heathens themselves. He fled to the hills, and his five sons—led by Judas Maccabeus, The Hammer! after whom I myself am named—took up their swords against the oppressors and drove them out of Israel, out of the temple, and cleansed the land!"

Many men shouted their acclamations in response to Judas's words. They nodding their heads fiercely, as though ready to strike down the first Gentile who appeared. Seddok approached Judas and whispered something in his ear. Judas's expression hardened; he clenched his fist and gazed over the heads of the crowd toward the south.

He continued though, not sharing the caution of Rabbi Seddok. The heat of the day marked the faces of his listeners, but he did not relent yet. His dark, weathered face showed no sign of weakness. Judas seemed to strike the heavens with words he believed must surely please God.

The crowd was restive, its agitation rising with every sentence. Judas shouted, "In Gamla we often ask, How will God find you, brother? How will He find us—free men, or slaves to godless nations? The God of our fathers searches the land for the holy ones, the sons of light who will destroy the sons of darkness.

"But if we do nothing—if we sit idle in our homes and hand the bread of our children to our overlords—what can we expect? A Messiah? He will not come until the purity of our people is proved, until we show ourselves outraged for the name of God—until we are willing to lay down our lives, and even the lives of our children, for the cause of righteousness!"

At last his voice failed, and his body slackened. An attendant took him by the arm, and the crowd parted to let Judas pass. All agreed that such words—such passion, such truth in one man—were astonishing. They wondered where it would all lead. And Seddok, speaking quietly among the leading citizens asked, "If he is not the Messiah, who then?"

When Coponius and his troop of soldiers reached the outskirts of Capernaum, the crowd was dispersed and Judas rested in a cool room. Children scattered before them. Men stepped aside along the road, yet stood with surly, frowning faces as the horses trampled past. When the column reached the center of the village, Lucretius spotted a man in flowing robes, cleaner than the rest, and called out, "You there!"

The man approached as closely as he dared to the great horse, which tossed its head from side to side. Lucretius said in Greek, "We will pitch our camp on the far side of your town tonight. We will require provisions for the number you see here. Am I understood?"

Though the man understood him perfectly well, he feigned confusion and replied in Aramaic. Lucretius signaled to one of his soldiers. "Tell him we will need provisions this evening."

When the soldier translated the message, the man shrugged and replied that they were a poor village and that meeting such demands would be difficult. The soldier relayed this to Lucretius, who grew angry and said, "Tell him they may bring the provisions to our camp—or we will search every house for what we require."

Stout men with tangled hair, dirty faces, and stained clothing began to gather around the horses. Some glared openly at Coponius, who stood apart in his uniform and bearing. He called sharply to Lucretius, "Disperse these men at once!"

Lucretius glanced at several soldiers within earshot of Coponius. At once they swung down from their horses, swords drawn, jabbing at the crowd and ordering the men to disperse. Most withdrew, grumbling in their own tongue, while the soldiers remained on foot and Lucretius gave the order to move on.

Others watched from behind carts and shadowed alleyways. To Coponius it seemed that hundreds now surrounded them. Lucretius met his gaze and said quietly, "Welcome to Galilee, Prefect."

Coponius was unafraid, but cautious. He watched as Seddok, accompanied by several of Capernaum's leading men, stepped forward with his hands raised. Meeting his eyes without a trace of malice, Seddok spoke in fluent Greek. "Excuse us, Your Excellency; we are unaccustomed to so large a presence of horses and soldiers."

"You are aware of the change in administration?" Coponius asked. "I am the prefect of Judea under Publius Quirinius, governor of Syria."

"I have heard the names, Your Excellency," Seddok replied in his most unctuous tone. "We welcome the change from the cruelty of King Archelaus. You must forgive us if we appear less than delighted at your arrival. We have suffered many insults in the past. Nevertheless, whatever you require of us will be provided."

Judas stepped beside him, and though exhausted, stood erect and defiant beneath Coponius's gaze. Coponius chose to ignore him. Turning back to Seddok, he said, "Very well. Lucretius, this is our man."

Later, on the far side of the village, several donkeys laden with provisions for the Romans arrived. Seddok came with them, accompanied by Judas and many others. He murmured to Judas, "Spare your words. The time is not yet. We must wait for the moment that will surely come." Judas, however, wanted only a closer look at the Roman magistrate to gage his worth.

For anyone raised in the villages of Galilee, it was difficult not to be impressed by the Romans—their bearing, the splendor of their horses and equipment, and the blazing emblems of fierce, unfamiliar gods. Judas forced himself to remember, This man is uncircumcised—fodder for the fire to come.

Coponius, followed by Lucretius and several soldiers, approached Seddok. Coponius waved Lucretius forward who placed a bag of money into the rabbi's hand. "We are not robbers," Coponius said. "Rome is ever grateful to those who desire peace."

Seddok weighed the bag of coins in his hand, then passed it to an attendant. Bowing his head, he said, "We are honored by your brief presence and hope to be of assistance whenever you may call upon us in the future. Will you require anything further?"

Coponius declined, and the meeting ended as Seddok and his companions returned to the town. Turning to Lucretius, Coponius remarked, "Whatever Quirinius has in mind, let Antipas keep rule of Galilee."

Lucretius replied, "He is cunning enough to do the job."

The night passed without incident, and Coponius went on to keep his appointment in Antioch.