Killing Jesus: A History

red wine are spread out on the long communal table.
    Barabbas and his cohorts, already condemned to death, are being held not far away, in the fortress’s stone dungeons. In time, they will be taken into the courtyard for a scourging—or verberatio , as it is known by the Romans. Low scourging posts are permanently positioned there for this task. Affixed to the top of each post is a metal ring. Each condemned man will be brought forth with his hands tied. The executioners will strip him of his clothing and then force him to his knees, before binding his hands over his head to the metal ring. The wrists will then also be shackled to the ring. This locks the body in position, preventing any squirming or other attempts to dodge the blows of the flagellum. Even before the first lash is laid against a man’s back, it is common for the victim to tense every muscle in his body and grit his teeth against the horrible pain that will soon be inflicted.
    The key to the executioners’ art is not how hard they whip a man but the effort with which they yank the whip’s metal- and bone-flecked tendrils away from the flesh after each blow. For this is when the primary damage to the body is done.
    To prove themselves superior, the professional killers—now casually eating their morning meal—strive to grip the wooden handle of the flagellum a little harder than their peers and lean into a lash with just a bit more strength. If they do their jobs exceptionally well, they might expose the victim’s internal organs. As the historian Eusebius will write of the spectacle, “Bystanders were struck with amazement when they saw them lacerated with scourges even to the innermost veins and arteries, so that the hidden inward parts of the body, both their bowels and their members, were exposed to view.”
    Yet as horrific as the process of lashing might be, it is just the start of the agony. For verberatio is a mere prelude to crucifixion.
    The soldiers finish their porridge and push back from the table. Time to go to work.
    *   *   *
    The condemned Jesus is marched to the palace of Pontius Pilate. The sound of his sandals, and those of the high priests and Temple guards who surround him on all sides, echo off the cobblestones. It is not yet 7:00 A.M. and Jerusalem is just waking up. The path takes Jesus past the small stratopedon (“barracks”), where a garrison of palace soldiers grimly watches the procession, and then winds past the lavish formal garden Herod the Great constructed so long ago, with its ponds, groves of trees, and quiet walkways from which doves can be seen alongside small streams. Palace walls form the northern boundary of the garden, and now Jesus is marched along those walls to the front gate, where soldiers take their four-hour guard shift.
    Caiaphas demands an immediate audience with Pilate. He stands outside the gates with Jesus, the Temple guard, and the entire Sanhedrin. But since the high priest cannot enter a Gentile residence so close to Passover, or risk becoming unclean and unable to eat the sacred meal, he requests that Pilate come down to the gate. It is a gross violation of their formal relationship, but surely Pilate will understand.
    The palace is enormous, a fortified square measuring 140 meters from south to north. It consists of two lavish wings, one named the Caesareum and the other Agrippium. Towers rise at intervals along its walls, and columned courtyards provide open space. At the south end, just on the other side of the palace walls, is a special courtyard known as the praetorium , where pronouncements, trials, and other public gatherings can take place. So it takes a while to get word to Pilate and for the prefect to dress and make his way down to the gate. He could not have been pleased to be faced with the sight of Temple guards, lavishly dressed priests, and a prisoner who was clearly in an advanced state of physical suffering.
    “What charges are you bringing against this man?” Pilate asks gruffly.
    Caiaphas has been dreading this moment. For, while he wants the Romans to kill Jesus, the charge of blasphemy is a Jewish offense. Rome could not care less about it. And Pilate, with his intolerance for the Jews, is not the sort to risk his career by allowing Jewish law to dictate whom he executes.
    “If he were not a criminal, would we have handed him over to you?” Caiaphas replies, avoiding the question.
    Pilate is not easily swayed. “Take him yourselves, and judge him by