Portia had trouble finding a way back to Caesarea. Finally she gave up and decided to stay in Jerusalem for a while--at least until she could get over Pilate's death. Thus it was that one morning, as Mary Magdalene was on her way to the market to purchase provisions for the week that she saw a nicely dressed woman siting by the side of the road and sobbing. Mary, filled with compassion, went to the woman and asked: “If you don't mind me asking, what is the matter, ma’am? Perhaps I can be of help.”
“Oh, no,” Portia sobbed. “No one can help. It's my husband--.He killed himself.”
“Oh, you poor dear! It must have been quite a shock.”
“You can't imagine. I knew he was disturbed over sentencing him to crucifixion, but I never thought it would go this far.”
“Sentencing who? If you don't mind me asking—who was your husband?”
“My husband was Pontius Pilate. He just couldn't get over sentencing that innocent man, Jesus of Nazareth to be crucified.”
“Oh, my poor dear! It is a pity it had to be your husband, but someone had to do it.”
“What do mean? Jesus was innocent. I was even warned about him in a dream. I told Pilate, and I think he wanted to let him go, but he was too weak and gave in to the Jews! Then I pushed him to be stronger and he was exiled for being too strong, and, since he had time to think, he couldn't get that Jesus fellow out of his mind and—. But, what did you mean, someone had to do it?”
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