The Inquest

by Stephen Dando-Collins

  July A.D.71

  In the time of our fathers, there arose a man of Galilee, a Jew, who won the hearts of those who came to know him, in life, and in death, as a gentle, kind and righteous man, a man said to possess miraculous powers. Not the least of those powers, it has been claimed, was the ability to rise from the dead. What follows is the report of Julius Terentius Varro, Questor to the Propretor of Syria and Judea, into the events surrounding the life and death of this man, called Jesus of Nazareth, or, the Christus. This report, undertaken after the exhaustive interview of witnesses throughout the provinces of Syria and Judea and adjoining lands, will show that the man called the Christus did not rise from the dead. Further, it will show how a small group of conspirators combined to subjugate the laws of Rome and the minds of men with a subterfuge of such audacity that even the greatest criminals in all our history would have shied away from complicity in its execution for fear of discovery, ridicule, and death.’

  This was the opening paragraph of the questor’s report, his second report, after the first had been discarded. Following the testimony of Atticus and Scaurus, Varro and Pythagoras had started afresh. With Pythagoras’ forbearance the questor had labored long and hard over this opening stanza. Artimedes had taught Varro that the opening paragraph of a book, any book, is as a door is to a house.

  With the opening made to his satisfaction, the questor had moved into the report proper. For seven hectic days now since the testimony of the two old goats, Varro and Pythagoras had been working steadily, almost frantically, in the privacy of the questor’s canvas pretorium at Capernaum. Every morning, from the first hour, Varro would dictate, pacing back and forth, while Pythagoras consigned his words to wax in Roman shorthand. During the afternoon, while Varro bathed at the principal bathhouse of Capernaum, Pythagoras would write out the latest section of the report in full with ink on parchment while referring to his notes. At night, following dinner, the secretary would read the day’s output aloud to the questor, who made any corrections deemed necessary. Pythagoras felt sure that General Collega would require hundreds of copies of the report to be made, for distribution throughout the Empire, with the first copy sent by fast ship to Gnaeus Licinius Mucianus at Rome.

  This was the seventh night of the seventh day of report-writing. Varro was both exhausted and exhilarated by the process. The mental labor was taxing, but being able to see the story of the crucifixion plot take shape on the page was a graphic reward for effort. The story that Varro was telling his future readers began with the last two years of the Nazarene’s life, when Jesus served as a deputy to his cousin Johannes the Baptist. It moved to the death of the Baptist, when Jesus took over the leadership of his sect. From here, Varro painted a picture of a well-intentioned and gifted man becoming increasingly frustrated by the loss of many of the Baptist’s followers.

  It was then, Varro had written, in the sixteenth year of the rule of Tiberius Caesar, that Jesus was approached by two members of the Great Sanhedrin with a desperate plan. These two men, Josephus of Arimathea and Nicodemus of Emmaus, both Pharisees and associates of the Baptist’s late father Zechariah, wanted to wrest control of the Great Sanhedrin of Jerusalem from the pedantic Sadducees who had traditionally dominated the council and provided its high priest. The only way these Pharisees could achieve this was by proving the preeminence of their religious philosophy with the emergence of the predicted Messiah, a man sponsored by them, who would apparently rise from the dead to prove his God-given powers.

  Varro had written that, to prove that Jesus was the Messiah, Josephus, Nicodemus and the other plotters had carefully arranged and manipulated events so that the Nazarene would be seen to have fulfilled the predictions of ancient Jewish prophets. Key to the assumption that Jesus was the Messiah was his proponents’ claim that he descended from King Davidus, through his father Josephus. The prophesies clearly stated that the Messiah would be a descendant of Davidus. Conflicting genealogies had since been produced to prove that Josephus was descended from Davidus, but these had since been made irrelevant by the admissions in the Lucius Letter and the Marcus and Matthias documents that Jesus was not of Josephus’ seed. Varro wrote that Jesus therefore had no blood link with the royal line of Davidus so could not have been the predicted Messiah, or Christus.

  Having devoted some space to the motive for the crime, Varro’s emphasis in the body of the report moved to the underlying role played by Josephus, Nicodemus and other leading Pharisees at all stages of the Nazarene’s arrest, questioning, sentencing, fabricated execution, and spiriting away. Where there was no direct evidence to link them to some aspects of the crucifixion plot, so Varro had written, the certainty of their role was inescapable. He said, for example, that it was apparent Josephus, or Nicodemus, or other Pharisees on the Great Sanhedrin connected with Jesus, had been present at the initial questioning of the Nazarene at the house of former High Priest Ananus, at the later questioning before High Priest Caiaphas, and then at Jesus’ several hearings before Prefect Pilatus. Only they could later have passed on what they saw and heard, information which reached the Nazarene testament writers Matthias, Marcus, and Lucius.

  Unless the accounts by Matthias, Marcus and Lucius of these inquisitions and hearings had been complete inventions, said Varro’s report, these leading Pharisees were the only possible sources of this information, as no other follower of the Nazarene had been shown to be present at all these sessions; not Marcus, not Matthias, nor any other apostle or disciple. In the same way, no account of the interview of Jesus by Herod Antipas had been passed down, because no Pharisee had been present at Antipas’ palace.

  Varro had also written that Josephus and Nicodemus would have been supported secretly by other Pharisees who contributed money to the plot. Using their combined resources they had bribed the senior Roman centurion at Jerusalem, Longinus, to stage the death of Jesus on a cross, enabling the Nazarene to apparently rise from the dead. They had also bribed guards at the tomb to look the other way and allow the Nazarene to be spirited away after the crucifixion. Although Jesus had told his apostles that he intended to be crucified to emulate the prophesies of ancient Jewish prophets, the plan of the Pharisees was not revealed to them. The exception was Judas, who, at the plotters’ behest and with the Nazarene’s full knowledge, had played the part of Jesus’ betrayer.

  Confident that he had just one more day’s work ahead of him before his one-volume report was complete, Varro was thinking about turning in for the night when he heard shouting voices arise in the distance. With Hostilis shadowing him as usual, he stepped out or his tent to determine the cause. As men ran past the pretorium with buckets in hand, the questor spied Optio Silius. “What is happening, Silius?”

  “A fire in the camp, questor,” said the optio excitedly. “Among the baggage.”

  Varro quickly made his way to the baggage area, to find off-duty soldiers trying to battle a fire raging in one of the carts, under the direction of Centurion Gallo. The centurion had dragged the burning vehicle well away from the other vehicles, but the occasional bucket of water being thrown on the fire was having no inhibiting effect.

  “We can’t save the cart, questor,” said Gallo when he saw his superior in the firelight. “Or the contents.”

  Pythagoras was among the numerous members of the expedition who began to arrive on the scene to view the conflagration. “It is one of my carts, questor,” said the secretary sourly. “The cart containing the wax tablets.”

  Varro looked suddenly alarmed. “Not our record of interviews?”

  Pythagoras nodded. “Despite the damp cloths wrapped daily around the tablets to keep them moist, the fire had much to feed on with their wooden backing.”

  Varro watched the flames rising ten feet into the night sky above the blazing cart. “We have lost all the records,” he lamented.

  “Not quite all, questor,” the secretary said in his usual unemotional monotone. “I had retained the last tablets pertaining to the interview of Atticus and
Scaurus, in my tent, in preparation for tomorrow’s writing session.”

  “That is something,” Varro unhappily returned. “Is the report itself safe?”

  Pythagoras held up a cylindrical leather document case. “The work-in-progress is here, questor. The report never leaves my sight.”

  “Guard the document well, Pythagoras.” As Varro and secretary took in the sight of the blaze, feeling the heat of the flames on their faces, the wheels of the cart gave way. The entire burning mass collapsed to the ground with a crash and a red-hot spray of sparks, sending soldiers jumping back. Varro scowled in Gallo’s direction. “How did this occur, centurion?” he called.

  Gallo again came to the questor’s side. “An accident, questor,” he said, pointing to the blackened remains of an oil lantern lying on the ground thirty feet from the blaze, in a gap between the row of baggage carts. The singed stump of a wooden lamp post stood nearby. “That was where I found the cart. The lantern fell, and ignited the cart.”

  Varro walked over to inspect what was left of the lantern, squatting beside it. Gallo and Pythagoras joined him. “Bring more light,” Varro instructed.

  Soldiers quickly brought lanterns, and in their light the questor surveyed the location of the lamp post. He checked the position of other nearby lantern posts. “This lamp post seems out of place,” he said, half to himself. Coming to his feet, he walked along the street a little way followed by lantern bearers, as spectators quickly moved out of his way. After several paces, he stopped, and looked down.

  “Have you found something, questor?” Quintus Crispus asked, joining him.

  “Look at the lamp posts to the left and right of you, Quintus,” said Varro. “Tell me what they tell you, in relation to the fourth.”

  Crispus wore an expression of total befuddlement, looking from post to post to post and then to Varro. He produced an open-handed gesture. “I am sorry, questor.

  “On your hands and knees, Quintus, and tell me what you see down there.” Varro pointed to the earth at his feet.

  Crispus dropped to his knees. “A hole, questor!” he exclaimed. “A post hole in the earth here, the size of the lamp posts. There was a post here, in line with the others.”

  Varro nodded. “Someone moved the lamp post, to put it beside the cart containing our records,” he pronounced. “Perhaps with no intent of arson, but then again…Gallo, find the soldiers who installed these lamp posts. Ask them if they moved that lamp.”

  The centurion soon identified the men who had planted the lantern posts, and they assured him that they did not place the lamp post where it had been found. “Someone moved the lamp, questor,” Gallo reported, “and placed it next to the cart which burned.”

  As Varro walked back to his tent, it was with the conviction that somebody had deliberately relocated the lamp post to make the fire appear an accident. Somebody in his camp, Varro was certain, had set out to destroy the records of his investigation.

  Varro dreamed that night. Of a blazing funeral pyre. A sword lay on the ground beside the pyre. A body writhed in the flames. When Hostilis woke him with a gentle shake of the shoulder, he found himself wet with perspiration.

  “You were dreaming again, master,” said Hostilis. “Shall I fetch Pythagoras?”

  Varro shook his head. “No need to disturb his slumbers, Hostilis. The meaning was plain enough. I dreamed of a funeral pyre. I think it was my own.”

  “Perhaps the fire in the camp prompted a dream without meaning, master.”

  Varro looked at his servant for a long moment. “I hope you are right.” He sat up, then had Hostilis bring him his writing box. When Hostilis brought the box to him, Varro opened it and took out a sealed document and a small leather cap. “Here, Hostilis, with my gratitude.” Where Hostilis looked uncertain, he said, “Take them-your manumission papers, your cap of liberty. I have dated the document to take effect on the first day of August. I was planning to give these to you then, but you never know what calamity might befall me before this month ends.”

  “No calamity will befall you, master,” said Hostilis positively.

  “How do you know?” Smiling wearily, Varro held out document and cap. “Take them, before I change my mind.”

  The slave accepted the document which granted his freedom and the cap which he could, if he so chose, proudly wear from his day of manumission to show the world that he was a freedman. “Thank you, master. Thank you so much.”

  Varro threw himself into an eighth day of writing. By mid morning he had come to a hurdle. Centurion Longinus’ desertion bothered him. It seemed highly coincidental that Longinus had run off from the 12th Legion within months of the execution of Jesus of Nazareth, and it was surprising that an enterprising and moneyed man like Longinus was soon found and arrested. This had put the principal Roman agent in the crucifixion plot out of the way, conveniently for the Jews who had been party to the plot. Once Longinus had been removed, no one in authority remained to give credence to a claim that the crucifixion of Jesus had been fabricated. Philippus the Evangelist had claimed that Longinus had become a follower of the Nazarene, suggesting a reason for desertion, but not a particularly believable one to Varro’s mind. Varro had come to the conclusion that there had to be something more to Longinus’ desertion. Had word leaked out that Longinus allowed the Nazarene to escape with his life? Had such a leak come from the Jews who were party to the plot? Or had one of the four members of the execution party suffered from loose lips, over one cup too many of wine whilst on leave, perhaps?

  There was another possibility. What if Prefect Pilatus had come to learn of the crucifixion plot, after the event, and eliminated Centurion Longinus on a trumped up charge? If it had become known that Jesus of Nazareth had escaped execution while under Pilatus’ jurisdiction, the chief priests of the Great Sanhedrin would have demanded the prefect’s head. What was more, Tiberius Caesar would have given it to them. Pilatus would have done anything to conceal Longinus’ crime. Countering this possibility was the thought that if Pilatus had discovered Longinus’ role in the plot, would he not have also executed the four soldiers of the execution squad, key participants in the plot, to also keep them quiet? Not necessarily, Varro told himself. To have beheaded Jesus’ four executioners would have raised suspicion with the Sanhedrin. Could this have accounted for the promotion and transfer of Atticus and Scaurus, to move them out of the province? How soon after Longinus’ execution had their promotions followed? Weeks? Months? Years? The pair had indicated that they had remained at Jerusalem long enough to hear of the death of Matthias Ben Naum, but no longer. It occurred to the questor that, one way or another, perhaps Atticus and Scaurus knew more than they had let on about the reasons for Longinus’ desertion and execution. He sent for Centurion Gallo. “Go to the Two Goats Tavern,” he instructed. “Bring me the proprietors; I have more questions for them.”

  Townspeople quickly moved aside as Gallo and his detachment of soldiers came marching through the narrow streets. The small column came to a halt outside the Two Goats Tavern. The shutters of the premises were drawn, which Centurion Gallo considered highly unusual for the late morning of a business day. When he rattled the shutters and called for attention, no answer came from within. Scowling, Gallo walked down the side of the tavern, to a door which led to stairs to the upper floor, where Atticus and Scaurus had their residence. The door was closed and locked. Calling his burliest legionary, Gallo told him to shoulder down the door. After four attempts, the soldier splintered the woodwork. Leaving Rufus and eleven men outside, Gallo drew his sword then led four men in through the door. Up the narrow stairs they quickly trod, to the landing. Splitting up, Gallo and his men went from room to sparsely furnished room.

  “Centurion!” came the disturbed cry of one of Gallo’s men.

  Gallo followed the voice to a room overlooking the street. There were two beds in the room. Sextus Atticus and Lucius Scaurus lay face up in the beds. Both were dead. Their skin had a purplish hue to it. Judged by the
offensive odor they gave off, they had been dead for several days. Pulling a face at the stench, and sheathing his sword, the centurion went closer to study the bodies. There were no signs of violence, but both men were open-eyed. Gallo’s hackles were up; he felt sure that foul play had been involved.

  A search by the centurion and his men of residence, tavern, and staff quarters in the rear found no trace of the tavern keepers’ servants. Neither did they find any valuables in the house; no gold, no silver, no cash. Gallo went back through the premises a second time, searching behind walls, in ceilings, under the floor. He was looking for something in particular. Eight days before, when Atticus and Scaurus had departed the Questor’s pretorium, they had taken weighty leather bags away with them. The bags had contained a large sum of money—twenty thousand sesterces, the questor’s reward for their testimony. Now, that money, like the servants of Atticus and Scaurus, had vanished.

  Gallo reported back to the questor with the news that the two old goats of Capernaum were dead. He also told Varro it was his belief that the two former soldiers had been smothered to death in their beds by their servants, who had then rifled the premises, located the pair’s newly acquired wealth, stolen everything else of value, then locked up, and fled.

  Unhappy at the news of the deaths of the old veterans, Varro sent Gallo and all his men to scour Capernaum and ask questions about the tavern-keepers’ servants, and about any recent visitors to the old men. Gallo’s hypothesis seemed a reasonable one, yet the questor could not help feeling there was a possibility that the old men had been murdered because of the testimony they had given him. He hoped that theft had been the sole motive for the killings, but he would have preferred to have known that with certainty. He could not bring back Atticus and Scaurus, and he could no longer expect answers to his question about the desertion of Centurion Longinus, but he would like to identify their killers and establish the motive for their murders.