“Oh?” A look came over Agrippa’s face which Varro felt suggested either suspicion or intrigue, but he could not tell which. “Why would you do that, questor?”
The question took Varro by surprise. “Well, to, er, set the record straight, Your Majesty. General Collega wishes to have the record set straight.”
“Is that so?”
“There is a story we are hearing, promoted by the Nazarene’s followers, that he rose from the dead following his crucifixion,” Varro explained.
“Yes, I had heard that also,” Agrippa said with apparent disinterest.
“Do you believe the story? Is there, to your knowledge, anything to support it?”
“What does it matter what I believe?” Agrippa sighed. He lifted a cup of wine, and took a brief, contemplative sip. “You will find what you will find.”
Varro decided to try to approach the subject from another angle. “Your father?” he asked. “Did he have an opinion on the Nazarene?” The king’s father had been Herod Agrippa I, briefly King of Judea, until his premature death two decades earlier.
“My father actively suppressed the Nazarene’s followers during the three years he ruled Judea. He had one of their leaders executed—Jacob bar Zebedee—and imprisoned another, a Simon Petra.”
“Simon Petra?” said Martius, with interest. He knew from the Lucius Letter that Simon Petra had been one of the Nazarene’s deputies. “Your father imprisoned him?”
Agrippa nodded. “The prisoner managed to escape. What befell him after that I could not say. I myself have been no friend to the Nazarenes, but I have not gone out of my way to persecute them either. I perceived my role to be that of a guide to the Jewish people, not a tyrant. I tried to advise the people, not impose my will on them.” A bitter tone now entered his voice. “But in the end many chose to ignore my advice.”
“So, you had little to do with the Nazarenes?” said Varro.
“Very little to do with them. I did once interview a Paulus of Tarsus, one of their advocates, ten or twelve years ago.”
“Paulus of Tarsus?” said Martius. “Yes, we have heard of him.”
“He had Roman citizenship, but also went by the Jewish name of Saul, if I remember. He had been placed in custody at Caesarea by Felix, the procurator, after being charged with blasphemy by the Great Sanhedrin of Jerusalem.”
“How did you find him, Your Majesty?” Varro asked.
“I found Paulus earnest and pious. A persuasive sort of fellow, a compelling orator. At one point he almost had me convinced that there was something in what he said.” A smile flitted briefly across his lips. “I considered him guilty of no crime. I believe that Felix’s successor, Festus, sent him to Rome, to have his appeal heard by Nero Caesar. Yet, when all is said and done, Paulus was no more than a fanatic.” His face hardened. “I abhor fanatics of any persuasion, Varro. Fanatics are blind to reality, fanatics are deaf to reason. Fanatics will be the end of Israel.”
Seeing the embittered expression which now possessed the king, Varro quickly tried to redirect the conversation to the man who was the focus of his investigation. “You never personally believed that Jesus of Nazareth rose from the dead, Your Majesty?”
Agrippa frowned at him. “Have I not already said as much?”
“May I ask, what do you know of his background, Your Majesty?”
Agrippa shrugged. “One hears many things. As far as I know, his family had connections with the Pharisees, the largest Jewish religious community. The Pharisees believe in life after death, unlike the Sadducees, who dominated the Great Sanhedrin until its destruction. This Jesus of Nazareth was a cousin of Johannes bar Zecharias, who laid claim to being a prophet. Johannes’s followers—and I am told that thirty thousand men were at one time his adherents, including his cousin Jesus—they called Johannes ‘the Baptist,’ because he baptized them in the Jordan River.”
“Why would he do that, Your Majesty?” Crispus asked.
“Baptize them? They believed that the act of immersion washed away their sins.”
“If only it were that simple,” Martius remarked with a snort.
Agrippa cast him a disapproving glance. “The washing away of one’s sins in exchange for repentance and a commitment to a righteous life is an ancient rite among the Jewish people, one with a great deal of religious significance attached to it.”
“Did Johannes baptize Jesus of Nazareth?” Crispus asked.
“I believe he did, yes.”
Martius smirked. “A god admitting to the possession of sins? What is the world coming to?”
“What fate befell Johannes the Baptist, Your Majesty?” Varro inquired.
“Beheaded, by Herod Antipas, my great-uncle, when he was Tetrarch of Galilee.”
“For what crime?” Martius asked.
“Johannes voiced opposition to my great-uncle’s divorce from the daughter of the King of Nabatea and his subsequent marriage to the widow of Antipas’ brother. That was contrary to Jewish Law.”
“He was beheaded? Not crucified?” Martius asked with some surprise. “Was the Baptist a Roman citizen?”
“No. The matter was a complicated one. Antipas’ bride Herodias asked for the Baptist’s head through her daughter Salome, to silence the Baptist and end his criticism of her new marriage. Antipas gave it to her.”
“The politics of the sword,” said Martius grimly. “We Romans know all about that.” Less than three years before, Martius’ father, a supporter of the short-lived emperor Otho, had committed suicide following Otho’s defeat by Vitellius. Shortly after, Martius’ mother and ten-year-old sister, sheltering on the family’s estate in Picenum in the east of Italy, had been murdered by marauding supporters of Vitellius.
Varro glanced across the circular table to Martius, and saw a distant, pained look in his eyes. Varro and Martius had spent the evenings of the journey from Antioch talking about themselves and their families. Varro knew how Martius’ loved ones had died, and he guessed where his deputy’s thoughts now lay. The questor returned his attention to the king. “Your majesty, what, may I ask, became of the Baptist’s followers in the wake of his execution?” he asked.
“Some transferred their allegiance to Jesus, I believe. Perhaps one in ten of them. The majority apparently did not believe that the Nazarene had the same powers of prophesy as the Baptist.”
“So, Jesus took up the reins of the sect founded by Johannes the Baptist, following the Baptist’s death?” Varro established.
The king nodded in reply.
Crispus quickly asked another question. He seemed to have developed a particular interest in the subject of baptism. “Did Jesus also baptize people in the Jordan, Your Majesty?”
“I gather that he left that to his subordinates.”
“Your Majesty, what do you know about the circumstances surrounding the arrest and execution of Jesus?” Varro asked.
Agrippa sighed. “I cannot contribute any information in that regard, Varro. I was only three years of age at the time. You must ask people who were there.”
“Yes, of course.” Varro sounded disappointed.
“I have my own opinion about the execution, of course,” Agrippa then volunteered.
Surprised, titillated, Varro leaned forward. “Yes, Your Majesty…?”
“It is obvious to me that Jesus of Nazareth attempted to conform to the prophesies of Moses and the minor prophets,” the king solemnly declared.
Varro was mystified. “I am not familiar with this Moyses, Your Majesty. And, the ‘minor prophets’…?”
Agrippa smiled to himself. So many Romans considered themselves learned men, but, to his mind, more often than not their learning was confined to their own country, their own customs, their own gods, their own origins. So many insular Roman administrators had come to this part of the world full of Roman notions, only to run head-on into the sensitivities of subjects who saw the world through quite different eyes. “I shall not bore you with a long lecture on Judaism, questor. Suffice
it to say, it was written, long, long ago, that a holy man, a descendant of an ancient king of the Israelites, would arise to save the people and become their new king. In Hebrew, the Jewish people call this savior the Messiah, or the ‘anointed one’ as you would say. In Greek, this translates as the Christos. This Messiah would be divine. To prove his divinity he would be crucified, and would rise again and walk among men two days after his death.”
“These prophesies are ancient, you say, Your Majesty?” said Varro.
“Many centuries old,” Agrippa replied. “To this day most Jews believe and expect that the Messiah is yet to come, but the followers of the Nazarene believe that Jesus of Nazareth was the Messiah.”
“Only a handful of Jews believe that the Nazarene was divine?” Martius asked.
“A small number of Jews, and some Gentiles, or non-Jews, hold that belief, tribune,” Agrippa told him. “There are good reasons to be skeptical of the claim that the Nazarene was the Messiah. Very few people, members of his family and some close followers, claimed to have seen Jesus alive following his crucifixion. If you have proven your divinity by rising from the dead, why would you not go far and wide to show the world that you had risen?”
“A good point, sire,” said Martius approvingly.
“We have a copy of a letter from one of the Nazarene’s followers,” said Varro, “in which the author states that the Nazarene set out to have himself crucified.”
Agrippa responded sagely. “As I have said, it has always been my contention that the Nazarene strove to conform to the old prophesies and so be declared the Messiah. For that reason, he would have willingly delivered himself up to be executed.”
“Having attracted only a portion of the Baptist’s following,” said Martius, thinking aloud, “Jesus felt that if he did not do something dramatic, such as claiming the mantle of this Messiah or Christos, he would always be seen as a mere disciple of the Baptist. As just a soldier, not the general.”
“The Jewish people have always been divided by various sects and false prophets,” said Agrippa gravely. “It is the nature of their faith that they will be tempted from the true path from time to time, to be tested by Heaven.”
“A false prophet?” Varro mused. “Do most Jews see the Nazarene in that way?”
“I imagine that is the case. I cannot speak for all Jews, questor.”
Varro shifted his position on the couch, leaning closer to Agrippa. “Your Majesty, in the strictest confidence, I can reveal that my mission is to prove that Jesus of Nazareth did not rise from the dead. Is there anything you could suggest, any line of inquiry I might follow, that would assist me in that quest?”
Agrippa looked at him without replying for a time, pursing his lips, as if deliberating on his reply. “My good friend Flavius Josephus and I have discussed this very matter at some length,” he then said. “If I were you, questor, I would ask myself two questions. Firstly, can I find witnesses who would testify that those who claimed to have met and spoken with Jesus following his execution lied? In other words, prove that the Nazarene prearranged for friends to fabricate this story following his death to comply with the prophesies and confirm the myth of his divinity.”
Varro nodded. “I must admit,” he said thoughtfully, “I have wondered how the Nazarene’s followers could accept this story of the resurrection with so little evidence to support it. Nazarenes in Antioch seem to believe in it implicitly, yet they could not tell us why. A thinking man must conclude that it would take either great faith or great gullibility to believe that a man could rise from the dead, without substantial proof. The balance of probabilities would seem to point toward this story being a concerted fabrication. So, yes, that is a line of inquiry I must pursue—prove that the witnesses lied. The other question, Your Majesty?”
“The other question you might ask yourself, questor, is this. Did Jesus somehow fabricate his death, so that he was in fact not dead when he was taken down from his cross? This, of course, would have enabled him to appear to followers several days after the execution, and so confirm the prophesies.”
All four Romans looked at him with surprise bordering on astonishment. None had even considered this possibility.
“How might that have been achieved?” a disconcerted Varro asked.
“You are saying that the execution was a sham?” said Marcus with disbelief.
Agrippa shrugged. “I merely suggest that the question might be asked, tribune.”
“How could the Nazarene’s execution have been a sham?” Martius queried, making no attempt to hide rising anger. “Surely, that would have required the complicity of the Roman authorities at Jerusalem? That is a strong charge.”
“I could not say how it might have been done,” Agrippa coolly replied. “I merely point it out as a possibility to be explored. You might ask, where did the Nazarene go following his so-called resurrection? If he did rise, why did he so abruptly terminate his teachings? In my experience, fanatics cannot help themselves, they require an audience. They will loudly proclaim their doctrine, ignoring the likely consequences. As I said previously, fanatics are blind to reality and deaf to reason.”
“If he did not die on a cross, however that might have been achieved,” Varro said, speculating aloud, “he would have had to go into hiding or leave the province. If he were found alive, he would have been rearrested and executed all over again.”
“Ah, but if he were a god, as his followers claim,” said Martius, with a smile which broadened into a grin, “the Nazarene could not be killed. We could have put him on a dozen crosses, and he would have risen time and time again. Surely?”
Venerius, who had held his tongue ever since receiving the withering glance from Varro earlier, let out a cackle of laughter. Then, seeing no one else laugh, he quickly and self consciously wiped the smile from his face, and lowered his eyes once more.
There was now a poignant silence. All the diners had stopped eating. Varro realized that none of the king’s retainers had entered into the debate about the Nazarene. Was it through deference to Agrippa, he wondered, or was it because they preferred not to enter into speculation about the death of Jesus, for one reason or another?
Agrippa now lay aside his napkin and pulled himself to his feet. Having had enough of the meal and the conversation, he was departing. His eight guests all respectfully came to their feet.
“To my mind,” said the king, “Jesus of Nazareth was a learned, pious and well-meaning teacher, a man with a prophetic gift, and a talent for deception. Nothing more.” He cast a cursory glance around the circle of men. “I wish you well on your quest, my lords.” Agrippa paused to allow servants to help him into slippers, then walked across the tiled floor and out the door. With his departure, Varro and Martius looked at each other, sharing the same thought: Was it possible, as Agrippa had suggested, that Jesus of Nazareth had fabricated his own death?
VIII
QUEEN BERENICE’S BARGAIN
Caesarea Philippi, Capital or the Tetrarchy of Trachonitis.
March, A.D. 71
The two Romans lay naked but for a coat of thick gray mud. After working up a sweat tossing around a medicine ball, Varro and Martius had progressed through the Caesarea Philippi bathhouse’s three baths, ice cold, tepid, and steaming hot, then stretched out on tables, side by side, face down, while slaves fastidiously coated them with mud before dragging it off again with scrapers of sharp-edged animal bone.
“Where is Crispus?” Varro asked as they lay there undergoing the uncomfortable treatment. “I expected to see him here at the baths. He mustn’t be allowed to hide away.”
“I had him escort your man Callidus,” Martius replied. Varro had that morning instructed Callidus to post notices throughout the city asking anyone with knowledge of the circumstances surrounding the death of Jesus of Nazareth at Jerusalem during the reign of Tiberius Caesar to come forward. According to the Lucius Letter, the Nazarene and his chief followers had come to Caesarea Philippi and other towns of
the area in search of converts, so there was a chance that someone here might have useful information. “Besides, Crispus has no need of the bathhouse.” There was amusement in Martius’ voice. “He informs me he took a dip in the Jordan River this morning.”
“In the Jordan River?” said Varro, surprised. “Can he swim?”
Martius shrugged. “He probably neither knows his letters nor how to swim, as the saying goes.”
“But, why take a dip in the river?”
“The Jews seem to think the waters of the Jordan have certain powers.” Martius smirked. “I asked lover boy if he thought his dip might wash away his sins.”
Varro frowned. “Crispus’ misjudgment on the road here is in the past, Marcus,” he said disapprovingly. “Let him be.”
“As you wish,” the tribune responded, smiling still.
Varro now became aware of his chief slave standing near. “What is it, Hostilis?”
“Master, Bostar, Chamberlain to Her Majesty Queen Berenice seeks a word,” the slave advised. Roman bathhouses were common places for business and social meetings.
“Very well, send him to me,” Varro responded, and Hostilis withdrew.
“Can you swim, Julius?” said Martius as the slaves continued the mud treatment.
“A little. My nurse felt I should. And you?”
Martius shook his head. “Like most Romans, I can only tolerate water in the bathhouse. As for sea voyages, they leave me cold.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “Did you know that Gaius Julius Caesar saved himself during a battle against the Alexandrians by swimming to safety, after his own men capsized his boat?”
Varro nodded. “I have read his Commentaries.” Varro was not as avid a student of military history as the tribune, but, like his colleague, he had been schooled on the campaigns of Julius Caesar. “Not that I necessarily believe it. He must have been in full armor at the time; he would surely have sunk like a stone.”
Martius laughed. “Shameless, outspoken, and questioning. I do believe you have the makings of a first class Cynic, my friend.”
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