CHAPTER 82

Tigellinus, Nero’s friend who was prosecuting the case, was just a few years younger than me, but his hair was still dark black. From a distance he appeared to be no more than thirty-five or forty. Up close, his true age was betrayed by leathery skin and a large red nose that was the product of too many nights of uncontrolled drinking. He was widely reviled as a man who acted half his age and only held power because of his inherited wealth and carousing friendship with Caesar. He was especially hated by the senatorial class because he was not one of them.

Nobody underestimated the man. Reviled him, yes. And also feared him for his ruthlessness and cunning intellect. But he was not to be taken lightly.

He stood when our case was called and moved next to Paul, putting his arm around the small apostle.

“This man,” he said, turning and looking at Paul as they both stood together in front of Caesar, “appears to be harmless. But he is in fact an insidious threat to the empire.”

He patted Paul on the back a couple of times, patronizing gestures that were already getting under my skin, and sauntered toward Nero’s dais. “I know Your Excellency doesn’t like long speeches, so I will get right to the point. Paul of Tarsus is on trial because he wants to start a new religion and because he refuses to worship Your Excellency or any other Roman gods. He’s also on trial because of his treasonous teachings.”

Tigellinus cast a condescending glance at the apostle. Paul returned the look with a serene stare, more pity than contempt.

“He certainly doesn’t look like much,” Tigellinus said with a dismissive wave of the hand. “I’ll grant Your Excellency that. But in fact he is one of the most dangerous men in Rome. He has thousands of followers, and he teaches them all that there is a power greater than you, Caesar. He speaks of a Kingdom that will defeat yours.

“I could present a thousand witnesses, but I will need only two. The first is Alexander the metalworker from the city of Ephesus. The second is Demas, a follower of the Way who has spent many hours with Paul in Rome. Together, they will tell Your Excellency everything you need to know about this new movement that seeks to undermine your authority. And because I know that Caesar likes to act swiftly, I will keep my case short. There will be plenty of time for Paul’s beheading before lunch.”

As Tigellinus returned to his seat, he stared at Paul. His statement of the case had surprised me. Several Jewish leaders had made the trip from Jerusalem to testify against my client and this strange new “superstition.” But Tigellinus had apparently decided to ignore them. Instead, he would focus mostly on the treason charge.

“Does the advocate for the defense wish to present a brief opening argument?” Nero asked.

“I do.”

Nero flipped his wrist, a signal to do so quickly.

I stood and took a deep breath. This matter was too important to rush.

“Before you start,” Nero said, “you should know that I have read the testimony submitted in two manuscripts from a witness named Luke. As a student of Greek drama, I must say that I found the good doctor’s story highly entertaining.”

Nero said it with a half smirk, and I already resented his attitude. He was trying to get a reaction out of me and put me on the defensive. I wouldn’t let him knock me off stride.

“As Caesar is well aware, neither Governor Festus nor Governor Felix nor King Agrippa found any fault with my client. It took them years just to settle on the charges. Agrippa said he would have released Paul himself if my client had not appealed to Caesar.”

Nero whispered over his shoulder to one of his assessores, and I wanted to strangle the man. He had paid perfect attention during Tigellinus’s short speech.

I decided to wait until I had his full attention.

He stopped whispering and turned back to me impatiently. “Go on,” he said.

“From reading Luke’s testimony, Your Excellency knows that these charges originated with the Jewish Sanhedrin in Jerusalem. A great dispute broke out when Paul testified in front of that body that he believed in the resurrection of the dead. That’s when they threw him in the barracks. That’s what started this entire case.”

Nero whispered over his shoulder again, and my blood ran hot. A man’s life was at stake! The least he could do was listen.

“Is it a crime in this empire to believe in a resurrection?” I asked. “What about Augustus? Did not the Romans see the soul of Augustus rise like a spark to the heavens?”

Caesar wasn’t listening. I was speaking to the back of his head.

“What about Agrippina?” I asked.

Nero’s head jerked around at the mention of his mother. “What about Agrippina?” he responded irritably.

“Is she gone forever?” I asked. “Or does her soul live on?” There were reports, I knew, that Nero had been haunted by his mother’s tortured soul. “How can my client receive the death penalty for preaching a doctrine about life after death that every Roman knows is true?”

I let the question hang there for a moment, and Nero stared angrily. At least now I had his attention.

“As for treason, nothing could be more ridiculous. I have personally heard the defendant teach the followers of Jesus to obey every authority. They are taught to give to all what is owed them. If they owe taxes, pay taxes. If revenue, then revenue. If respect, then respect. If honor, then honor.”

Paul was nodding. It was the one part of his testimony I knew Nero would like.

“Thirty years ago, I served as assessore to Pontius Pilate in Judea. I was there, Most Excellent Caesar, for the trial of the man called Jesus of Nazareth. The Jewish leaders accused him of blasphemy and treason, but Pilate knew he had done nothing wrong.

“I knew that too. I had personally heard him preach in the Temple. The Pharisees asked whether the Jews should pay taxes to Tiberius Caesar, and Jesus asked for a coin and then asked them whose image and inscription was on it. When they said Caesar’s, Jesus told them, ‘So give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s.’”

I lowered my voice. “On the day of that trial, Pilate worried more about keeping the peace than he did about whether the Nazarene was innocent. I stood behind Pilate, just as your own assessores are behind you today, and I gave him legal advice on the best way to contain the fury of the Jewish leaders. On that day, we ordered the crucifixion of an innocent man. It was more than thirty years ago, Caesar, but if I close my eyes, I can still see the stoic face of the Nazarene waiting for us to judge him rightly.

“That moment haunts me. If I could live one day over in my life, it would be that day. I allowed fear and ambition and politics to smother justice. And because I believe in the immortality of the soul, I know that I will one day give an accounting for what I did.

“Don’t make the same mistake, Your Excellency. Before you stands Paul of Tarsus, an innocent man. Do not allow his blood to stain your own soul.”