The Inquest

by Stephen Dando-Collins

  A mounted courier of the 4th Scythica’s own cavalry squadron rode up to the camp that afternoon. The dusty rider was conducted to Questor Varro at a Capernaum bathhouse.

  Varro was about to enter the cold bath when the courier came to him.

  “This has been following you from Antioch for weeks, questor,” said the soldier, removing a letter from his dispatch case, “and halfway around Judea.”

  Varro took the letter. Identifying the seal of his uncle with some surprise—he rarely received correspondence from the reclusive younger brother of his late father—he opened the letter and read it:

  Gaius Terentius Rufus at Rome to Julius Terentius Varro, Questor to the Propretor of Syria at Antioch, Greetings.

  Esteemed nephew it is with leaden heart that your humble uncle must write to you at this time with the most tragic of news. It was on the day of the Festival of the Parilia that your beloved mother was seized by a severe pain in the head and collapsed at her house on the Aventine. The physicians were summoned, but there was nothing they could do to save the noble Julia Gratiana. If it is any consolation nephew those same physicians have subsequently assured me that after the initial seizure your mother would have suffered no discomfort and that death claimed her very swiftly.

  It was only very recently that I received a letter at Nola from your mother in which she had told me in glowing terms that you had been given a very responsible assignment in your province of late and that she fully expected you to make a great success of that assignment. Julia also told me of her joy at receiving a letter from you at Antioch sending her greetings on the occasion of the Matronalia.

  I have now come to Rome to settle your mother’s affairs as her executor. The majority of her estate she has willed to yourself, but I should make you aware that she also allowed generous annuities to myself and to her staff and to her former under secretary and now your secretary Artimedes. Your mother has also granted manumission to the longest serving of her household slaves.

  Nephew, this news must come as a great shock to you, as it did to me. Your mother had by far the soundest constitution of any person of her age I could name. Her loss I can only ascribe to divine will. Soon I am to return to Nola. If you have any return communication for me you might address it to me there.

  Farewell.

  The boat rocked gently as it floated in the rippling waters off Capernaum. It was a small craft, built in the common style of edge-to-edge carvel planking. With just two oars, it was wide at the center, with pointed prow and stern. Normally used for conveying paying passengers from lake town to lake town, it contained two bench seats running transversely. On one bench sat the rowers, Callidus and Hostilis. On the other, with their backs to this inexpert crew, sat Questor Varro and the slave Miriam.

  The news of his mother’s death had devastated Varro. All thoughts of completing his report had gone to the wind. A month before, Varro would have shared his grief with Marcus Martius and Artimedes. Now, there was only one person he could think of turning to. Instructing Callidus to find him a small boat and to bring Miriam to him, he had embarked onto the Sea of Galilee in search of tranquility and consolation. Miriam had not said a word all the time she had been sitting by his side. She had made sure that no part of her body touched his, although, given the limited width of the boat, the gap between them was not large. They had not spoken since the boat left the shore.

  A small Roman warship of fifty oars had just passed by, on patrol, with a long blue pennant trailing listlessly from its mast and with the marines on deck looking bored. The wash from the pentekonter subsided, and the Sea of Galilee returned to glass. On the questor’s instructions, Callidus and Hostilis had ceased to row. Hostilis had now closed his eyes, and sat, half asleep, soaking in the sun. Beside him, Callidus watched the sleek, narrow warship make its way around the lake toward Bethsaida, its oar blades flashing as they rose and fell. Callidus was thinking about the ship that would soon be taking Julius Varro and himself back home to Rome.

  “My mother has died,” said Varro flatly, looking straight ahead.

  “I had heard,” Miriam replied. “News travels fast in camp. I am sorry for your loss, questor, truly sorry.” She sounded genuine. “How did it happen?”

  “She fell down dead, in our house at Rome. No warning. Just fell down dead.” He was still in shock at the news. “The physicians said that she did not suffer.”

  “That would be a consolation for you.”

  “It is.” He sighed. “We were close, my mother and I. She was a very wise woman. Much wiser than my father, I always thought. She would not have resigned herself to her fate the way he did. Had she been him, she would have fought to clear her name.”

  “Was she beautiful?”

  “Beautiful?” He nodded. “I always thought so. She was admired by many men. Several of Rome’s most distinguished men courted her once Nero had gone and it was no longer dangerous to associate with the widow of a Piso plotter, or an accused Piso plotter, but she vowed never to remarry.”

  “A Piso plotter? What does this mean?”

  This question brought a wry smile to his lips. It was easy to assume that everyone in the world was familiar with the politics of Rome, but, as he was discovering, it was wrong to assume anything in life. “Six years ago, Piso, a Roman senator, formed a conspiracy to murder Nero Caesar,” he explained. “The plot was discovered, and many leading men of the day were implicated. My father was one of those accused. He was innocent of the charge, but it was true that he had no love for Nero. He had held such hopes for Nero, the grandson of Germanicus Caesar, yet after a golden beginning, of early years of such promise, Nero’s reign turned from a dream to a nightmare.”

  “Your mother did not remarry?”

  “No. Her father would never have forced another marriage on her. He respected her too much for that. We all respected her. No woman of Rome was more respected than my mother. She gave me the confidence to make my own way in the world, to assume the responsibilities as head of my family, the responsibilities my father surrendered when he surrendered his life. I think, like his brother Gaius, my father was not comfortable with responsibility. Gaius escaped to the country, and his farm. My father submitted himself to the executioner’s ax. He did not even have the courage to open his veins and take his own life. Nero gave him that option.”

  “Are you?”

  For the first time, he looked at her. His eyes collided with her large, dark eyes. His heart missed a beat. “Am I what?” he responded.

  “Comfortable with responsibility?”

  He shrugged. “I have had no choice, Miriam.” He returned his gaze to the lake. “Now, of course, with my mother’s death, I have more responsibilities than ever.”

  “You do have a choice, you know?” she said. “In all things.”

  He nodded. “I am aware of that.”

  “You should follow your heart.”

  “I have a duty, to my mother’s memory.” His voice faltered. He cleared his throat.

  “I’m sorry, that you have lost her.” Reaching across, she took his hand in hers.

  Biting his lip, determined not to let his grief have the better of him, he gratefully, gently squeezed her delicate little hand. They sat like that, hand in hand, for a long time, not speaking, just looking at the water. Finally, he said, “Would you come to Rome with me? When I return in the new year?

  “If you command it of me. Yet, with your mother’s passing, what duties would there be for me there?”

  “It is not as an ordinary slave that you would go to Rome,” he said, turning to her.

  She dropped her eyes. “Then, what role would I have?”

  “You would only go to Rome if you chose to go to Rome.” He looked at her profile, absorbed by the perfection of her features. “I shall give you a choice, Miriam. You may either go to Rome, with me, or you shall have your freedom, and a bounty, and you may go wherever your heart takes you—back to Caesarea Philippi, here to your birthplace of Capernaum-wh
erever you choose.”

  She drew her hand from his. “That is cruel,” she declared.

  He was hurt. “Why? Why is it cruel? I am allowing you to follow your heart.”

  “You say that I may have the choice of manumission, and money, against a choice of you, and Rome? That is a cruel choice to give.”

  “You may have your freedom, which ever choice you make. At Rome, or here.”

  “Freedom takes many forms,” she said wistfully.

  “Do you understand what I am saying? I will not force you to do anything. If you choose to go your own way, then so be it. If you choose to accompany me to Rome, of your free will, then I will know that you have done it because you want to be with me.”

  “As your mistress at Rome?”

  “Yes.”

  “Questor…”

  “Will you not call me Julius?”

  She shook her head. “I cannot. I am a slave, you are my master.”

  He smiled. “That can soon change.”

  She shook her head. “Even as a freedwoman, I could not call you by your first name. We are from different worlds, you and I, Julius Terentius Varro.”

  “Do you not have feelings for me?” He was sounding exasperated. “If not, then say so, and you shall be free to go, and that will be the end of it.

  “You would just let me walk away?”

  “Yes.”

  “You would forget me?”

  “No. I could never forget you, Miriam. Never.”

  She sighed. “This is so unfair.”

  “Why? Nothing can be fairer than the choice I am offering you. Do you have any feelings for me at all, Miriam? Tell me.”

  “I confess,” she said, “that I have grown fond of you. Fonder than I dare.”

  “Then, could you, would you come away to Rome with me? Yes, or no?

  She turned to look at him once more. “If I were to choose to go with you…?

  “Yes…?” he responded expectantly.

  ““Would you accept Jesus of Nazareth into you life?”

  He looked crestfallen. “You cannot ask that of me,” he protested.

  “Why not? Jesus was a good man. You are a good man. Do you remember the night that Queen Berenice made a gift of me to you? She called me aside, and whispered something to me. Do you know what she said? She said, ‘Here is a man who will know the truth when he finds it. Help him find the truth.’ Jesus is the truth.”

  “I do not deny that Jesus of Nazareth was a good man. A good man, a prophetic man. Perhaps, a good man manipulated by others, men with political motives.”

  “Why must you think in terms of politics, of worldly concerns?” Her brow furrowed as she grew suddenly annoyed. “This is about faith, about opening your heart.”

  “Miriam, how can you expect me to believe something that I know to be untrue?” He too was sounding annoyed now. “The religion of the Nazarene is all about ignorance, and superstition. Ignorance enslaves, superstition enslaves.”

  “It is the religion of the Roman gods that is based on ignorance and superstition,” she countered. Then her look softened. “Please, accept Him into your heart. Choose everlasting life. Become His messenger. Destroy your evil document.”

  “Document? You mean my report? You want me to destroy my report?”

  She nodded. “I will come with you to Rome. I will be your partner in all things. You shall be my partner in all things. There are many of the faith at Rome, some even in Caesar’s own household. You will be welcomed as a brother. But you must destroy the document which slanders Him.”

  “You cannot ask it of me.” His head and his heart were in turmoil.

  “That is my price,” she declared firmly. “The price of your salvation.”

  They sat in silence, she cloaked in self-righteousness, he in dismay.

  From the south, a dark cloud came rolling toward them, blotting out the sun and sending a chill wind across the lake.

  “The weather changes,” said Varro numbly. “Callidus, we shall return to shore.”

  Callidus and Hostilis came to life and slipped their oars into the water. They were soon rowing in unison, speeding the little craft back toward Capernaum. Not a word was spoken in the boat on the return journey. The bow nosed onto the beach below the town, and Hostilis leapt over the side and dragged the craft up onto the sand. Varro jumped out. He turned to help Miriam from the boat, but she disembarked of her own accord. With a sigh, Varro turned and strode up to the Water Gate. Miriam walked in his footsteps.

  Last of all, Callidus landed. He stood watching Hostilis fasten the crafts bow rope to a rusty iron ring embedded in a rock at the edge of the little beach. “Did you hear?” Callidus said with agitation. “He wants to take her to Rome, as his mistress.”

  Hostilis gave him a disapproving look. “I am deaf in the questor’s presence,” he said, “unless he speaks to me. It would pay you to have the same attitude.”

  “She must not be permitted to go to Rome,” said Callidus, half to himself.

  Hostilis glowered at the freedman. “Mind your business, Callidus,” he cautioned.

  “You mind your tongue, slave!” Callidus snapped back with irritation. “You are not yet a freedman, fellow. Know your place!” As the cold wind cut in off the water, Callidus shivered, then, with shoulders hunched, set off with moody strides toward the Water Gate. At his own pace, Hostilis brought up the rear.

  XXIX

  THE SUBJECT OF POISON

  Capernaum, Northern Galilee, Tetrarcrhy of Trachonitis.

  July A.D. 71

  The south wind had brought an unseasonably cold change. In the early evening, as Callidus made his way to a tent not far from his own, men swathed in cloaks huddled around cooking fires throughout the camp with hands outstretched to flames for warmth.

  Columbus, the giant Numidian, stood on sentry duty outside a tent door, resting on a stave. The guardian to the chief magistrate of the Jews of Antioch eyed Callidus blankly as the freedman stooped beside him and looked in through the open tent flap. General Collega had commissioned Columbus to watch Antiochus like a hawk, to make sure that the man did not involve himself in any mischief, and that was what the former gladiator had been doing for months.

  “May I enter, Antiochus?” Callidus called. He did not wait for a reply.

  Antiochus looked up from a letter he was writing, the latest in a succession of secret missives complaining to General Collega about the way that Questor Varro was handling the general’s commission. Not trusting anyone else with such delicate matters, Antiochus always wrote these epistles himself. As for the letters’ delivery, at populated stopping places along the expedition’s route Antiochus had paid suitable agents who would forward them to Antioch. Now, Antiochus hastily covered his writing frame with a cloth. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Callidus?” he said, with a frosty scowl.

  “Just a cordial visit, Antiochus,” said Callidus, looking around the tent.

  “Is that so?” Antiochus wore a cynical smile as he came out from behind his writing table. “During the course of this expedition, Callidus, you have paid me a cordial visit how many times? Let me see. Yes, I do believe it is…never!

  “For all things, there are precedents, as they say, Antiochus.”

  “Is that what they say? Let us dispose of the false cordiality. What do you want?”

  “Well…” Callidus lowered his voice. “This afternoon, I accompanied the questor on a diversion on the lake, in a small boat.”

  “How charming for you.”

  “We were not alone. For company, the questor took along the slave girl Miriam.”

  Antiochus’ eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “The questor and the girl have become intimate.”

  “How intimate?” Antiochus demanded with concern. “Physically intimate?”

  “Not to my knowledge. Although that would seem considerably imminent.”

  “That girl is dangerous,” Antiochus growled.

  “My thought exactly,”
Callidus responded, delighted to have seemingly found an ally. He stepped closer. “Look how she has wormed her way onto his staff. Worse than that, I overheard her ask the questor to destroy his Nazarene report.”

  “Destroy it!” Antiochus exploded.

  Callidus put a finger to his lips. “Hush! This is between just we two.”

  “Did Varro agree?” Antiochus whispered anxiously. “Did he give in to her?”

  “Not as yet. That is not to say the girl will cease to try, Antiochus.”

  Antiochus began to pace the floor. “As I have told Collega, I have feared all along that Varro would favor the Nazarenes and deliver a soft and useless report. Now you say that there is a risk there will be no report at all? Is Varro mad?”

  Again Callidus put a finger to his lips.

  “Is he mad?” Antiochus repeated, coming to a stop and whispering now.

  “I didn’t say that he had agreed to her request. None the less, the possibility remains, while she remains. If you understand my meaning?”

  Suspicious, Antiochus scowled at the freedman. “What are you suggesting?”

  “While Miriam remains, danger remains. It occurred to me that a man of position like yourself, a magistrate of the Jews, would have considerable contacts, and the power to remove an undesirable. You know what I mean, Antiochus?”

  “You are saying that she should be removed from the scene?”

  Callidus shrugged. “One way, or another.”

  Perspiration gleamed on Antiochus’ brow. Nervously, and habitually, his hand went to the small leather pouch at his neck. Thinking hard, he did not say anything.

  “It would be beneficial to the future of the questor’s report if the girl were removed from the scene,” Callidus reiterated. “With her out of the way, the questor can be expected to have a clear head and a more balanced view.”

  Antiochus was slowly nodding in agreement.

  “You heard the evidence of Atticus and Scaurus,” Callidus went on. “There was a Jewish conspiracy to make it appear that the Nazarene rose from the dead. You know it, I know it, the questor knows it. With the girl out of the way, Antiochus, the questor will deliver a report which confirms it, and which damns the Nazarenes.” Callidus knew that Antiochus wanted the Nazarenes eliminated.