It was a near thing
Taking his ease
In a softly stuffed divan 
Facing a roaring brazier
Luxuriating in soft lamb's wool
And starched linen
Home at last
After three years of 
Watching scheming 
Planning acting
Dressed in homespun
Living rough
His nom de guerre
Benjamin
The love revolution stillborn
The plotters Essenes
Judas Yeshua
Leading a small band of rabble
Improbably matured from inanity
To the threshold of supremacy
The Hosannas signaling their deaths
Judas the tactician
Yeshua the visionary
I trapped them both by guile
Yeshua's words jailed him in Caiaphas' hold
To die by Roman hands
Judas dead by mine
Lured with a promise of 
Sanhedrin compromise 
His hanging corpse adorned 
With my posthumous testament 
Of pouched silver 
To cast eternal doubt on his purpose
And now I return to my reward

I am triumphant