He heard the steps before the voice.
“My lord.” a whisper.
“The Tribune is here”
“What does he want?”
“It’s the Jews, my lord.”
“What now?” he thought. “Show him in, I will be there presently.”
“Yes, my lord.” His manservant receded into the darkness of the common room. He tried to ease out of the bed so as to not wake his wife. Crossing the room in the darkness, he snagged his robe from the hook, shrugged it on and went out. He could just make out the soldier in the moonlight streaming in the windows. The Tribune saluted fist to heart.
“Prefect. The Jew’s council awaits an audience with you.”
“At this hour? What do they want?”
“They wish to turn a criminal over to you for punishment, Prefect.”
“Well, make them go away. Do they not know the hour?”
“Prefect, they insist that it is an urgent matter.”
“Yes, I bet they do.” He thought a moment. “Alright, I will dress while you bring them in.”
“Yes, Prefect.” And with another salute the Tribune exited the room. Pilate went to his dressing room and prepared to meet the Jewish Sanhedrin. His manservant momentarily fussed over him and pronounced him presentable. Pilate went out through the common room and exited the apartment.
Moving quickly toward his main chamber, he wondered if this criminal was the same man Caiaphas had wanted soldiers for the night before; probably. He moved into the large hall where he expected to see them but was instead met by the Tribune.
“My Lord, they refuse to enter the building. It is their day of preparation…….”
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