CHAPTER 73

I hadn’t heard from Pilate’s wife in years, so the letter came as a total surprise. Procula said she was doing well and had finally found peace with the events that had transpired in Judea and afterward in Rome. She had also found forgiveness.

A few months ago I met with a prisoner named Paul of Tarsus, an apostle in the movement called the Way.

After listening to him and learning about the miracles he has performed, I have become convinced of something so astonishing that I hesitate to even write it down. Jesus, the man called Christus, whom Pilate ordered crucified, came back to life three days later! He was seen by hundreds of witnesses, Theophilus, and his Spirit is what allows men like Paul to perform miracles.

I would love to talk to you about this when you have an opportunity, but I also have a request. Paul is in need of his own miracle now. He has been accused of propagating an illegal religion and of sedition against Rome. As a Roman citizen, he has appealed to Caesar.

Paul has been under house arrest for over a year, and he needs an advocate worthy of the cause. Needless to say, my thoughts immediately turned to you. I know that you are no longer actively taking cases, but I was hoping that you might consider making an exception. I have been baptized into the Way. I have experienced what I can only describe as a freedom and forgiveness I have never before known. I am willing to pay you whatever it takes to retain your services.

Forgive me for being so forward. Please give my respect and love to Flavia.

Thirty years earlier, I might have said yes. But that was when I dreamed of becoming Rome’s greatest advocate. I was wiser now. Flavia and I had fought one emperor and barely escaped with our lives. Now we were spending our energy on the next generation. The students I taught today would be the leaders of Rome tomorrow. It was the only hope we had left.

It had been more than fifteen years since I had tried a major case. Times had changed. Styles had changed. Even my stamina and energy were not what they used to be.

I sat down and began writing my reply. Halfway through, I decided that I should at least discuss it with Flavia first.

At dinner, Flavia had her own objections to Procula’s bold request. Followers of this new sect had already created a stir in Rome. Flavia saw them as a threat to Rome’s combination of emperor worship and obeisance to the Roman and Greek gods.

“Look at the repercussions from allowing the Jews to worship their own God,” she pointed out. “They have never become a part of the Roman culture. I cannot imagine you helping to authorize another religious sect that would further weaken public devotion to the gods we’ve spent our entire lifetimes serving.”

What Flavia said made sense, but Mansuetus had a different take. “What if the man’s innocent? And, Mother, are the Roman gods not strong enough to defend themselves?”

Flavia gave me a look as if I had somehow instigated the question. I knew what she was thinking. He’s too much like his father.

“If he’s innocent, he needs an advocate who actually believes in his cause,” I said.

“Maybe he just needs somebody who won’t let him rot in prison,” Mansuetus countered.

“What difference would it make in front of Nero?” Flavia asked, ganging up on our son. “Even the best advocate wouldn’t stand a chance in front of the emperor. He’s more concerned with practicing for his next citharede competition than meting out proper justice.”

I nodded. “She’s right.”

“That’s all the more reason you should do it,” Mansuetus argued. “The toughest cases need the best advocates. Isn’t that what Cicero said? Isn’t that what you taught me?”

I made a face. How do you explain the real world to a fifteen-year-old?

“I’ve heard all the stories about what a great advocate you were, but I’ve never seen you try a case,” Mansuetus continued. “What happened to the man who took on a crazed emperor to save a Vestal Virgin’s life?”

“That’s no way to talk to your father,” Flavia said sharply.

“It’s all right,” I responded. This was exactly what I had taught my son —ask the hard questions. Challenge things. Besides, there was truth in what he was saying.

“I’ll talk to your mother about it after dinner,” I said. I used my fatherly tone of voice, the one that signaled an end to the conversation.

I could tell from looking at him that Mansuetus still had a hundred other reasons why I should investigate Paul’s case. He had been taught respect, so he held his tongue, but the flash in his eyes betrayed his real feelings. He was a young man. He was itching for a battle. He wanted to see me take a stand for the principles I had been teaching him.

He ate the rest of his meal in silence.

Later that night, Flavia and I talked. The idea of representing Paul had started to intrigue me. I will always consider that conversation with Flavia to be one of my greatest oratorical triumphs. Flavia eventually agreed that I should at least meet with Paul and hear his story. I decided I would take Mansuetus with me.

But Flavia also made me promise that I wouldn’t take the case if it would be impossible to win. We both knew that once I signed on for a client, I was committed to do whatever it took to prove his innocence. That might mean incurring the wrath of Caesar and putting my family at risk.

“We don’t even know this man,” Flavia said. “Why should we put our lives on the line for him?”

“Let’s just take it one step at a time,” I suggested.

I didn’t tell her that I was now looking forward to the meeting. Throughout my life, the Fates had not always been good to me. But perhaps here, in a twisted way, they were giving me a chance to right a wrong. If Paul had been a leader of some other religious sect, I never would have given the case a second thought. But he wasn’t. He was a leader of the Way, the followers of a man I had helped put on a cross during Passover week thirty years ago.

The Nazarene had haunted my thoughts since that day. He had inspired my best work as an advocate. His trial had exposed a weakness in my moral fiber that still made me ashamed when I thought about it.

I was glad I could pin some of the blame on Mansuetus for suggesting this meeting. But in truth, I was more than a little curious. I was anxious to hear what Paul had to say.