The Master's Quilt Read Online Free Page A

summoned the entire city to the racecourse, then surrounded the
people with a detachment of his soldiers and informed them that
unless they gave up their insanity, and discontinued their
harassment of his men, he intended to kill each and every one of
them.
    To his consummate dismay, all of them—men,
women, and children—threw themselves to the ground, exposed their
necks, and served Pilate notice that they, the children of Abraham,
would rather die than willingly see the Holy City defiled. Pilate
yielded. The standards and images were withdrawn. That event would
forever blot the record of this career soldier from Spain.
    “If Vitellius puts pressure on Pilate,”
continued Simon, “he will most certainly look for a way of escape,
and you, my friend, would provide the perfect scapegoat. It was you
who suggested that Jesus be sacrificed for the good of all.” He
paused, then added, “Make no mistake about it, Joseph, Pilate will
not let the opportunity pass to serve your head on a platter to the
Governor, especially to keep his own head off the
platter.”
    “As always, Simon, your rhetoric is most
persuasive. I do not intend to become an Azazel sacrifice.”
    Simon laughed, breaking the tension. “Never
mind the patronizing, Joseph,” he said without rancor, adjusting
his robe. “Doras sees this as his opportunity to move up in stature
in the Council. And he is steadily gathering support from some of
the more conservative, disgruntled members.”
    “So?”
    Simon shrugged. “He has already garnered
support from among the scribes and certain members of the first
chamber. If he sways enough minds, Annas may begin to have
thoughts—if he hasn’t already— about maneuvering his son Jonathan
into a position of higher visibility among the Romans.”
    “To forestall any attempt by Doras to usurp
his power,” the High Priest muttered, thinking out loud.
    The older man nodded. “We both know that
where power and influence are concerned, your father-in-law is a
master of manipulation. And your role in this Jesus incident is a
prime example.”
    That comment had set Caiaphas to thinking.
Was there more to the dreams that haunted him than he was willing
to admit? Was it possible that there was something of critical
importance he had missed? Was he somehow being manipulated?
    “You are the first non-lineal descendant of
Annas to hold the position of High Priest of the Great Sanhedrin,”
pressed Simon, “and you have ruled successfully now for fifteen
years. Yet power is a fickle and persistent mistress—”
    “What does all this have to do with the
crucifixion of one blaspheming Jew? As High Priest of the Great
Sanhedrin, I alone have the responsibility for maintaining the
sanctity of the Faith. While we might have tolerated some of the
claims the man made, we most certainly could not tolerate his
insistence that He was the Son of God and that upon His death his
‘Father’ would resurrect him from the dead. Even the Pharisees were
uncomfortable with those claims.”
    “Listen to me, Joseph. . .you haven’t been
yourself lately. There’s been talk among a number of the Council
members that you’re not the same forceful man who boldly confronted
Pilate seven years ago. We need a High Priest who is strong enough
to keep the Romans in check.”
    “What do you recommend?”
    “Reassert your strength. Let the Council see
that you haven’t forgotten what it means to be a Sadducee—and the
High Priest. You must prove to them, beyond a shadow of a doubt,
that there is no reason to be concerned about any loose ends in
this affair.”
    Mounting morning heat brought Caiaphas back
to the present. He belched involuntarily, then gagged. The sourness
fermenting in his belly had risen from his stomach and scorched his
throat with its foulness. He stood up on wobbly legs and a wave of
nausea threatened to shatter his precarious balancing act. He
reached out and grabbed hold of the acacia. Why had he gotten so
drunk?
    The