The Inquest

by Stephen Dando-Collins

  Without a word, she settled on the rock, leaving a gap of several feet between them. While he looked to the southeast, she looked to the southwest.

  “Philippus told me that you had been born here at Capernaum,” he said.

  “As I was brought here to you, I passed by the house of my birth.”

  “What was your father’s occupation?”

  “Mostly he was a rogue.”

  “He must have been a rogue to sell you into slavery.”

  She shrugged. “He was one of those men who valued only sons. He had four daughters, and just the one son. Jacob.”

  He could feel sadness washing over her at the mention of her dead brother, and quickly tried to divert her thoughts. “What did Jesus of Nazareth do here? I have read and heard a great deal concerning the Nazarene, but I am still struggling to know him.”

  “Those who accept Him come to know Him,” she returned.

  “I read that Jesus taught here.”

  “Once, Jesus taught a multitude of people on the shores of this lake, and He took five loaves and two fishes, and fed them all. Then, He sent Simon Petra and the other apostles back across this lake, in a boat belonging to Simon Petra, toward this very shore. In the night, as they rowed, a storm blew up, and the apostles encountered great difficulty rowing. Then, they saw Jesus walking past them, on the water…”

  “He walked on the water?” Varro smiled gently at her. That anyone could believe such fantastic stories he found incredible. Were it any other person telling him this he would dismiss them as either gullible or unstable, or both. Yet, Miriam believed, and coming from her it seemed different somehow. He found her passion captivating.

  Turning to him she saw his smile. “You are mocking me,” she said unhappily.

  “I would never mock you, gentle Miriam. Tell me more. Please.”

  “I know why you sent for me. You want me to forgive you. For Sodom.”

  “I, er, no, no, I want to learn more about the Nazarene.” He lied badly.

  “I do forgive you,” she said. “As the Lord forgives all those who seek His forgiveness. Sin comes from weakness. Repentance takes great strength. And I know that in your heart you now repent.”

  He was hardly able to believe what he was hearing, as much as he had wanted to hear it. “You forgive me?”

  “Truly.”

  Callidus dawdled through the town, with Miriam on his mind. This girl was undeniably fetching. He had seen Marcus Martius’ eye taken by her, but, worse, he had seen the questor’s head turned by her. Callidus was certain that his master had fallen for Miriam, but up till now Varro had appeared not to recognize the depth of his own feelings for her. Over the past week or so, Callidus had sensed that situation beginning to change. His alarm had been heightened when he had overhead the questor telling Philippus the Evangelist that he might take Miriam to Rome. In what capacity, Callidus had wondered, and worried. If Varro took the girl to Rome merely to be a member of his mother’s staff, that was one thing, but if he had thoughts of making her his mistress, that, to Callidus was a different matter, a considerably different matter, and a threat to his own plans.

  Callidus felt no loyalty to Octavia, daughter of Paganus the merchant. If, however, Callidus’ master were to leave Octavia in Antioch, taking Miriam to Rome as his mistress instead, not only would Octavia not go to Rome but neither would her buxom servant Priscilla, and that did concern Callidus. A great deal. In that event he could leave Julius Varro’s service to remain at Antioch and be near Priscilla, but only a fool would give up such an influential post with a man who was on his way up the ladder, a man with superb connections and who was obviously destined for great things at Rome.

  There was only one answer. Rather than remove himself from the picture, Callidus felt that it was Miriam who should go. To his mind, if he could somehow disenchant the questor with the girl, so that Varro’s affections were once more directed wholly and solely to Octavia, then Callidus’ problem would be solved. There was already the revelation that Miriam was a follower of the Nazarene. Callidus wondered if he might not somehow exploit that to his advantage. As he ambled along, deep in scheming thought, he found himself outside the same back street tavern that he had frequented with the questor and his lictor several weeks before.

  For the first time, he noticed the taverns name, The Two Goats, painted on a board suspended outside the wine house together with a rudimentary but recognizable illustration of two horned billy-goats butting each other. Looking at the sign in mild amusement, Callidus was suddenly struck by the recollection that the questor’s first dream had featured a pair of goats. Intrigued, he walked up to the counter. The same two elderly tavern keepers were there, the two white-haired veterans of the 3rd Gallica Legion.

  Recognizing him, they smiled broadly. “Welcome back, my good lord,” said one.

  “Can we tempt you to a good wine, at an even better price?” said the other.

  “Why not?” Callidus settled on a stone stool across the counter from them. “Fill me a cup. Four parts water to one part wine.” He watched as one of the tavern keepers directed servants to fill the order. “Tell me, how did the tavern come by its name?”

  The second tavern keeper laughed. “We are the two old goats of the establishment’s title,” he said.

  “We thought it apt, considering the name of the town,” called the other.

  Callidus frowned. “How so?”

  “Caper,” said one.

  “And Naum,” said the other, returning to the counter.

  Now it dawned on Callidus. Caper was Latin for goat. “Ah, it is a title of considerable wit. Considerable wit.”

  “Not that we have the slightest idea who Naum was,” the first veteran laughed. “Some Jew or other.” His partner also laughed.

  “You both seem in good humor,” said Callidus. “Business is on the improve?”

  “No better than the last time you were here,” one old timer lamented.

  “Very poor,” the other added, as a servant placed a full cup in front of his customer. “We need Germans in this town, drinking their wine undiluted and by the bucketful. We make so little profit we can barely feed ourselves, let alone our servants.”

  A shame,” Callidus remarked, taking up the cup. “A considerable shame.” There was a pause as he sipped his wine.

  “My good sir,” one tavern keeper began again, sounding hesitant, and glancing at his companion for reassurance, “when you and the questor were in Capernaum before, there was mention of a financial reward. For information.”

  “Yes, concerning the death of Jesus of Nazareth,” Callidus acknowledged.

  “How fares the questor s investigation in that regard?” asked the second old man.

  “Well, a considerable amount of water has flowed under the bridge since the Nazarene was executed, of course,” Callidus returned. “It seems that all the witnesses who might have aided the inquiry are either dead or have disappeared. Why do you ask?”

  The veterans looked at each other. “The reward?” asked one. “It would be large?”

  Callidus shrugged. “The better the information, the larger the reward.”

  The pair nodded to each other, as if in silent agreement.

  “What if we were to tell you,” one began, “that we could have information?”

  Callidus raised an eyebrow. “You two? You have information?”

  “We did not always serve with the 3rd Gallica Legion,” said one.

  “Like all centurions,” the other continued, “we were transferred from legion to legion as we were promoted. We retired from the 3rd Gallica, but we were with seven legions in all over the years, following each other from posting to posting like brothers.”

  “In the year that Jesus of Nazareth was executed,” said the other, “we were still rank and file, serving with the 2nd Cohort of the 12th Legion. At Jerusalem.”

  Callidus was so surprised that his mouth dropped open and he loosened his grip on the cup in his hand. Red w
ine spilled down the front of his tunic. “You were at Jerusalem? He set down his cup. “At the very time that Jesus of Nazareth was executed?’

  “We were not only there…” said one tavern keeper, glancing at his comrade.

  The other looked Callidus steadily in the eye, so there was no mistaking what he was about to say. “We were members of Jesus of Nazareth’s execution squad.”

  Callidus found the questor where he had left him, although now he was deep in conversation with the Jewish girl beside him. Their intimacy only raised the freedman’s ire. Still, he consoled himself as he came up behind the pair, the news he was about to impart would swiftly take the questor’s mind off Miriam. “My lord, great news!”

  Varro and Miriam broke off their conversation. “What news, Callidus?” said Varro with a scowl.

  “The two goats, my lord! The two goats in your dream. They are running a tavern in Capernaum.”

  Varro looked at him as if he were mad.

  Callidus burst into a grin. “You yourself met them when last we were in this town, my lord: the proprietors of the Two Goats Tavern. Little did we know then, but during the reign of Tiberius the two old goats were with the 12th Legion at Jerusalem. They crucified Jesus of Nazareth!”

  Miriam let out a gasp.

  Varro instantly came to his feet. “They will willingly give testimony?”

  “Willing, my lord. It was the promise of a reward that bestirred their memory.”

  Varro strode off toward the Water Gate. “Take Miriam back to the camp,” he ordered. “She is to assist Pythagoras. Then return quickly to me.”

  Callidus looked down at Miriam. “Up!” he snapped, stooping and taking her arm and dragging her to her feet. Miriam shook free of his grasp and went stomping off in the questor’s wake. Smiling to himself, Callidus followed. This latest turn of events, he told himself, had very nicely put the cat among the pigeons.

  Varro meanwhile hurried through the town toward the Magdala Gate and the expedition’s camp beyond it. For this testimony he would summon Crispus, Pythagoras, Pedius, and Antiochus to join him. This time too, he would have Diocles present. In the past he had regretted not having the benefit of the physician’s expert medical knowledge when questioning informants; he would not make the same mistake twice.

  The revelation that the two old tavern keepers had executed the Nazarene had come as a shock. After becoming resolved to an incomplete investigation and an insufficient report, to have two such important witnesses materialize at the last moment was, to Varro’s mind, either a gift from the gods or a cause for suspicion. He was conscious of the fact that Philippus had steered him to Capernaum. He had suspected that the Evangelist had sent him here to become closer to Miriam, a Nazarene; perhaps Philippus thought she could convert Varro to their faith, as she had vainly tried to convert Martius on his deathbed. But as fond of the girl as he was, Varro had no intention of letting her steer him toward adopting the Nazarene doctrine. As far as he was concerned the wild stories surrounding Jesus of Nazareth such as the fanciful tale of a walk on water could find no place in an intelligent mind. Miriam could say what she liked, she could not change the beliefs of Julius Varro. His defenses were sound: a solid wall of rationality, a deep fosse of self reliance.

  As he walked, the possibility also occurred to the questor that Philippus had put Miriam up to influencing the questor in another way. Perhaps he had given her the task of subverting Varro’s report, or even of trying to convince Varro not to deliver his testament to protect the myth of the resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth. Varro would not put such a ploy past the wily old Nazarene, but not even the heart-stopping Miriam could make him do what he did not want to do. There was of course another possibility, that Philippus was somehow behind the sudden appearance of these two new witnesses. Could Philippus have used contacts in the town to bribe this pair to come forward, to give false witness to a story which supported the myth of the resurrection? It was with increasing doubt that Varro reached the camp and ordered Centurion Gallo to take a detachment of his men to the Two Goats Tavern in the town, there to secure the two tavern keepers and then bring the pair to the questor without delay.

  The white-bearded secretary methodically and deliberately set out his writing instruments on the table in front of him. On the floor beside him knelt Miriam, unwrapping wax tablets from their damp linen coverings. The questor had assigned her to the secretary’s staff. She was educated, and like Antiochus was fluent in three languages. She may or may not prove useful. Not that it mattered to Pythagoras; as far as he was concerned the girl was the questor’s plaything, and Varro had obviously given her this appointment to please her. What did concern Pythagoras was the appearance of these new witnesses. This was a promising turn of events.

  Pythagoras wanted the questor’s Nazarene report to achieve General Collega’s objective, to totally and irrevocably slay the myth that Jesus of Nazareth had risen from the dead. But he had his own motive for such an outcome. Licinius Mucianus had left Pythagoras at Antioch to help Collega administer his provinces, taking Pythagoras’ deputy Sophocles to Rome with him. Now, Sophocles ran the Palatium and its one hundred and thirty-two under-secretaries, and, in effect, ran the Empire. This worried Pythagoras. When he returned to Rome in the new year, would Mucianus, who admired efficiency and embraced expediency, relegate Sophocles in Pythagoras’ favor? Or might Mucianus suggest to Pythagoras that he go into retirement instead? He dreaded such a premature end to his career. A report which demolished the doctrine of the Nazarenes could save that career, or even project it to new heights.

  Pythagoras glanced up to see two elderly, white-haired men being escorted into the pretorium by Gallo. On the testimony of this pair could hang Pythagoras’ future. More than once he had heard Mucianus declare of philosophers and prophets: ‘These people band men together to air seditious thoughts, to insult those in power, to incite the multitudes, to overthrow the established order of things and bring about revolution. Such men are a danger to Rome and her stable government.’ Yet, to the secretary’s mind, the report that he and the questor had compiled to date was like a toothless lion. Despite the months devoted to this enterprise, the notes on the wax tablets piled high in an expedition cart did not contain the incontrovertible evidence that would satisfy Collega or Mucianus. The two old tavern keepers now standing before the questor could change all that.

  “In consideration of your age you may both sit to give your evidence,” said Varro.

  The two veterans gratefully took a seat on a wooden bench facing the questor’s table. Their eyes took in the gathered officials, and rested briefly on locked chests stacked at the rear of the pretorium, containing the annual tax collection of the province of Judea, which had been handed over to the questor at Caesarea by Procurator Liberius and was being taken up to Antioch. The questor himself sat on the couch at the head of the ‘U.’ His servant Hostilis knelt on the floor behind the couch. On the couch to the left of the questor sat Prefect Crispus, Pedius the lictor, and Callidus. To the right sat the Jewish magistrate Antiochus and Diocles the physician. Pythagoras was installed at the writing table in the corner; a servant knelt beside him to provide fresh tablets of wax as required. Centurion Gallo stood at the pretorium door with hands clasped behind his back.

  “You say that you are Sextus Atticus and Lucius Scaurus, natives of Cisalpine Gaul,” the questor began, “and you are discharged veterans of the 3rd Gallica Legion.”

  “We are they, my lord,” the two tavern keepers replied in unison.

  “You have provided Centurion Gallo with your notices of military discharge,” Varro nodded to two thin bronze plates lying on the table in front of them; each had been inscribed by hand with the date and place of the ex soldier’s enrolment, a list of the units with which they had served, including the 12th Legion, and the date and place of their honorable discharge from the Roman army. Both notices had been authorized by the military tribune of the 3rd Gallica Legion. “None the less, I must confirm th
at you did serve at Jerusalem at the time you say. Firstly who commanded the Jerusalem garrison at the time of the execution of Jesus of…”

  “Centurion Longinus,” Scaurus enthusiastically interjected.

  Varro nodded. “Where was the pretorium located at Jerusalem?”

  “In the Antonia Fortress,” Atticus advised without a moment s thought.

  “There was a judgment hall in the Antonia. What name did the Jews give this?”

  Atticus and Scaurus looked vaguely at each other. “We cannot recall the Hebrew word for it,” Scaurus then said.

  “In our language,” said Atticus, “it was The Pavement.”

  “Very well, I accept that you served at Jerusalem. However…” He still sounded guarded. “I must ask why you have come forward with information at this time.”

  Atticus and Scaurus looked at each other, before Atticus spoke. “My lord, we did consider coming forward when last you were in Capernaum.”

  “At that time we decided against it,” said Scaurus. “Our present depressed economic state convinced us that perhaps this time we should not be so reticent.”

  “We have been finding it difficult to deal with our mounting debts, my lord,” his colleague clarified with an embarrassed smile.

  “On that subject, might we raise the matter of a reward, my lord?” said Scaurus.

  “The inducement shall be considerable, should the information you provide be truly valuable,” Varro advised, “and truthful. Now, tell me, how old are you?”

  “Begging the questor’s pardon,” Atticus persisted, “but might we put a number to the figure of the reward.”

  Varro scowled at the pair. “Very well. Between ten and twenty thousand sesterces,” he impatiently advised. “Now, kindly answer my question.”

  “Twenty?” Atticus responded, raising his eyebrows as he looked at his elderly comrade. “A most attractive number.”

  “Most attractive,” Scaurus agreed, having quickly calculated that this was two thousand sesterces more than the emperor’s bonus that they had taken into retirement, a bonus eaten up by the acquisition of their first business.