The Mammoth Book of Classical Whodunnits

by Mike Ashley

  I have observed in the Christian churches which have grown up in all parts of the world how believers interpret the facts about Jesus in terms of their own cultures and habits of rational thought. This is as true of me as any others. As a Greek, I tend to look for those points of convergence between the teachings of the ancients and those of the Lord Jesus. The priests of Asclepios long ago recognized that physical disfunction is not simply a bodily failing but a matter of psychic disharmony.

  Pure must be he who enters the fragrant temple;

  Purity means to think nothing but holy thoughts.

  So runs the inscription over the magnificent entrance to the sanctuary at Epidaurus. It was an insight Paul readily recognized. ‘Whatever is pure, what is holy and of good report — set your mind on these things’, he often taught; and in his letters he was always exhorting believers to find wholeness through being ‘spiritually minded’ and letting the Holy Spirit direct their thoughts. His own remarkable mind was able to embrace every new proposition presented to it. Yet, at the same time, he could with needle-sharp accuracy transfix the error in an argument or locate its essential truth.

  But where was he now? In a world that was falling apart and hastening to its end was he safe? Every fresh demand upon my time increased my impatience to reach Rome where, I felt sure, someone would have reliable news of his whereabouts.

  When we finally reached the city after more than a month on the road I was shocked by the changes that had taken place since I had left it five years before. The centre as I had known it was quite vanished. Where streets of houses and shops, ancient temples and public buildings had once stood there were now piles of blackened rubble or large areas cleared and swarming with hundreds of slaves, like so many ants. The house where Paul had been held was no more. The whole area from the Caelian Hill to the Palatine had been razed in order to create space for Nero’s new palace. The Golden House was already complete and gangs of slaves we’re laying out over two-hundred acres of gardens, lakes, pavilions, colonnades and fountains for the emperor’s exclusive pleasure. People told me about — but I deliberately did not go to see — the immense gilded statue of himself that Nero had set up to overlook the forum.

  Yet it was not so much the material changes to Rome that impressed most visitors. There was, everywhere, an air of gloom, anger and fear. Thousands of citizens had had their property confiscated to make way for the imperial vulgarities. Businesses had disappeared, leaving their owners destitute. Hundreds of people had perished in the fire. Though no one dared say so openly because of the secret police, the general opinion was that the emperor was responsible for the conflagration. I heard men who despised ‘Christian atheists’ express sympathy for those who had been made scapegoats and punished for the blaze. But it was not religious minorities and mere slaves who suffered. The emperor’s agents were assiduous in seeking out all who appeared to constitute a threat to the First Citizen. Tigellinus, now Nero’s closest confidant, had revised the treason laws and used them to put to death several nobles.

  Wherever I went I could feel oppressive evil and decay. There could be no doubt that all this was the work of Satan. Just as diseases of the body had their origin in spiritual conflict, so in the state crimes and outrages committed by men were the outward manifestations of warfare in the heavens between the divine cohorts and what Paul called ‘the rulers of the present world darkness’.

  After a couple of days in the city I located old Persis, a dear friend and leader of the church, until partial paralysis confined him to his villa at Trastevere, across the river. I introduced Manaus to him and we sat in his lemon grove, drinking honeyed Falernum from his vineyards in the Campagna and talking over old times. Persis sat in his chair in the shade, a battered straw hat tied with string on top of his thick, white hair to stop it blowing off in the breeze.He provided a sad catalogue of men and women who had died on the emperor’s orders or fled.

  ‘We expected the Lord’s return long since,’ he said. ‘When his people were slaughtered so cruelly and the numbers sleeping in the Lord grew we said to ourselves, “Surely he can delay no longer.” I certainly did not expect to taste death before his coming, but now,’ he gestured with his good arm, ‘it seems I must rest in the catacombs with so many of my friends.’

  ‘The catacombs?’

  ‘When the persecution became really severe we had an enormous burial problem — scores, hundreds of interments to make. We received permission to extend the chambers alongside the Appian Way. Now there are several long tunnels — or so they tell me; I cannot get there to see for myself. Even in this, the Lord blessed us: these underground chambers make good meeting places. When it became too dangerous to gather inside the city some of the brothers took to meeting in the catacombs. They said they were carrying out funerary rites. The authorities were too superstitious to interfere with them.’

  ‘Do they still meet there?’ I asked.

  ‘Some, yes. But there are several secret places for worship. There have to be. Despite the emperor’s attempts to destroy us —or perhaps because of this — our numbers grow.’

  ‘Is there any news of Paul?’ Manaus asked the question which I had been leading up to.

  The old man stared at us. ‘You haven’t heard? I felt sure that you, of all people . . .’

  ‘I have heard many things but none that I could prove true.’

  Persis shook his head sadly. ‘Our dear Paul was executed just over two years ago.’

  ‘Two years ago? Persis, are you sure about that?’

  ‘Yes. He was somewhere in Gaul, I believe, when he heard about the terrible things happening here. He decided to return to strengthen the church in the capital. Of course, he took no thought for his own safety; you know what he was like. Our friends did their best to keep him hidden but he insisted on visiting the bereaved and gathering groups together for teaching. He was arrested after he had been here about two weeks.’

  ‘How was he? His eyes — was there any sight left?’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t see him.’

  ‘What? You mean Paul came to Rome and didn’t visit one of his oldest friends?’

  ‘l’m sure he intended to but there were other more urgent matters . . .’

  Although Persis brushed the matter aside it was obvious that he was saddened and surprised that Paul had not called upon him. To me it was incomprehensible.

  The old man quickly concluded his story. There was not much more to tell. Refusing to skulk in back streets and catacombs, Paul had been soon arrested. By returning to Rome he had broken the law and there could be only one penalty. On a fine spring dawn a troop of soldiers had marched him out through the Ostian Gate and as far as the third milestone on the harbour road. There, in a small grove a few paces from the highway, he was bound to a slab of stone which was chest high to a kneeling man. Paul began to sing a hymn. I could imagine that unmusical, powerful voice penetrating the morning air. He was, Persis reported, singing up to the moment the sword struck.

  I asked what had happened to the body. Had it been taken to the catacombs?

  ‘The guards were under orders not to release it,’ Persis said. ‘They didn’t want Paul’s remains to be buried where they could become a focus of pilgrimage. Tigellinus was furious that the little Christian preacher had disobeyed him and he had no intention of turning Paul into a martyr. The body was disposed of secretly.’

  My old friend was tired and obviously distressed at recalling these events. Manaus and I left shortly afterwards. Before departing I asked Persis about the Sunday worship and whether we should present ourselves at the catacombs. We could do so, he said, and he would give us a letter of introduction in case no one recognized me. Alternatively, we were welcome to return to the villa. A small group gathered there every week and, so far, had not attracted the attention of the authorities.

  As we made our way back with sad, slow steps towards the Sublicio Bridge, Manaus said, ‘It seems that your quest is at an end.’

  ‘It se
ems so.’

  However, I was not wholly convinced. If what Persis said was true, then Licinius’ information was inaccurate. Of course, the centurion had only passed on hearsay. But, then, I reasoned, so had Persis. Neither had direct proof of Paul’s whereabouts.

  ‘You still think there’s any doubt?’ Manaus asked.

  ‘I suppose I’m trying to persuade myself — clinging to a hope that isn’t really a hope.’

  As I met other members of the brotherhood I asked them what they knew of Paul. All, without exception, told the same story. On Sunday Manaus and I made our way to Trastevere at daybreak for the customary celebration of the Lord’s rising. Persis had said that there would only be a small gathering. In fact, over a hundred men and women crowded into the paved atrium of the villa. Many of them had come to meet me, knowing of my connection with Paul. I was asked to speak and, although I am no orator, I tried to share with these brave disciples some of my memories of Paul and of others who had actually seen and spoken with the Lord. My audience had many eager questions with which they plied me all through the fellowship meal which followed our worship. Although several slaves left to return to their duties, the sun was high overhead before the gathering finally dispersed.

  The man who presided over the meeting was called Linus. He was unknown to me but his authority seemed to be accepted without question and he appeared to be both forceful and clear-headed. He walked back with Manaus and me to the city centre. He told us that he came from southern Italy, had been a Christian for about ten years and had been the leader of the church in his home town. Shortly before Paul’s death, he said, the apostle had entrusted the Roman church into his hands. The man had obvious leadership qualities, yet, for a reason I could not identify, I did not feel at ease with him.

  I asked Linus if he could tell me any more about Paul’s last days. He could not.

  ‘What happened to Eubulus?’ I enquired.

  ‘Eubulus?’

  ‘Paul’s companion. I assume he returned with Paul?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Linus was obviously uncomfortable. ‘He managed to escape.’

  He was not inclined to elaborate and I did not press him. Manaus and l returned to our lodging and I spent several hours in prayer and thought trying to decide what to do next.

  That evening, shortly before nightfall, our host came to the room to say that someone was outside asking for me. I donned my sandals, collected my staff and went down with him. When Manaus tried to come as well the lodging-house keeper said that the caller was insistent that Dr Luke should go alone. Outside, I discovered Linus. With very few words he led the way to a poor quarter of the city where mean houses backed onto the river. We entered one and ascended to an upper room. In answer to Linus’ knock it was opened — by Eubulus.

  I was shocked as much by the young man’s appearance as by his being there at all. He was thin and hollow-cheeked. His eyes lacked lustre and his skin was pale. We embraced and I could feel the lack of strength in his arms.

  When we were all seated on the room’s sparse furniture it was Linus who began the explanation. ‘I’m sorry we tried to deceive even you but I’m sure you’ll understand that it was necessary. When the trouble broke out here three years ago you can guess who was behind it.’

  ‘The Jews?’

  ‘As ever. Things were coming to a head in Judaea. Tigellinus was about to organize a purge in the city. The synagogue leaders responded by stirring up a riot and denouncing the Christians as responsible. This suited the emperor’s purpose ideally. He needed someone to blame for the fire and . . . well, the rest you know. Over the following months the Jews were feverishly active, spying on us, laying information against us — anything to deflect attention from themselves.

  ‘The church was decimated and demoralized. Most of our elders had been sacrificed in the circus and the arena. Those who were left spent much time in prayer and the Holy Spirit appointed me to take over the leadership. Slowly things quietened down but we were not safe and we still aren’t. There was one man above all others that our enemies wanted to lay their hands on.’

  ‘Paul?’

  ‘Of course. He was the Jews’ arch—enemy. As for Tigellinus he bore a personal grudge and regretted having let Paul get away. Our greatest comfort during the worst days was knowing that our beloved Paul was miles away and beyond the clutches of his foes in Rome. Imagine then how appalled we were when, suddenly, Eubulus arrived to tell us that Paul was on his way back to the city.’

  The young man took up the story. ‘We had a wonderful time in Tarraconensis [the province of North and Central Spain] particularly in the coastal towns. The people were anxious to hear the Gospel and we stayed a year baptizing and instructing and appointing elders. Then Paul felt the Holy Spirit calling us to the nearby province of Narbonensian Gaul. We made our way over the mountains. It was terrible. The weather turned bad and Paul grew weak. I had to carry him on the steeper sections. Then I fell ill with a fever. I don’t remember clearly how we survived. All I do recall is Paul’s amazing strength of spirit. Not once did he despair. Always he was thinking of the next town where he could preach the Gospel. But he was exhausted and when we reached a place called Toulouse he had to rest completely. After a couple of months we were on the road again. In the proconsular capital of Narbonne Paul’s challenge to the priests at the temple of the divine emperor resulted in a beating, a night in the jail and an armed escort out of town. It was when we reached the port of Marseilles that we heard of the troubles in Rome. Paul was broken-hearted at the stories the fugitives were bringing and he was also concerned that the church in the capital should be strong. He was convinced that Rome would in future be the centre for Christian mission rather than Jerusalem. We must return immediately, he said, and I could not dissuade him.’ He looked at me appealingly. ‘You know how useless it was to argue with him. Fortunately, he was too weak to make the sea voyage and he knew it. He insisted that I go on ahead and tell the brothers in Rome that he was on his way. I didn’t want to leave him, truly I didn’t, but he told me it was the Lord’s will, so having engaged a local family to look after him I came here by the fastest ship in the harbour.’

  ‘Of course, we were horrified,’ Linus explained. ‘For Paul to enter the city was certain death. We sent Eubulus back straight away and two of our people went with him with instructions to prevent Paul from reaching Rome. They would have used force if necessary.’

  Linus paused and exchanged doleful glances with Eubulus. I sensed they were coming to the unhappy climax of their story.

  ‘We couldn’t find him,’ Eubulus muttered. ‘We reached Marseilles to discover that Paul had left over a week previously. He had simply settled up with his hosts and gone, without saying where he was going.’

  ‘Did he have no one with him?’ I asked.

  ‘As far as we could discover, no. We looked feverishly in all the neighbouring towns and villages. We tried the harbours, large and small. It seemed most likely that he was already headed for Rome. But no one had seen him, or, if they had, they had not noticed him. Who would pay any attention to an old, near-sightless man stumbling through the streets with the aid of a stick? He would have been dismissed as just another beggar.’

  Linus added, ‘Naturally, we kept a careful watch for him here. Some of the brothers work on the docks at Ostia and would have reported if Paul had arrived. But he didn’t.’

  ‘Then, why this elaborate story of him being arrested and beheaded?’ I asked.

  ‘For his own safety. His enemies were everywhere. Still they arrive from time to time, looking for him. We deliberately spread the story of Paul’s death and, because so many Christians were killed and others disappeared and there was general confusion, it was believed. Wherever Paul is now he should be safe from Satan’s hounds.’

  ‘Did you seek him in Arles?’ I asked Eubulus.

  ‘Arles? No, that is many miles from Marseilles, much of it over marshy, inhospitable country. Why would Paul want to go there
?’

  ‘It’s an important administrative centre and there is already a church there. I have a reliable report that Paul was there a few months ago. We must start a new search in Arles.’

  Suddenly Linus put a finger to his lips. He hurried across to the door, threw it open and looked out. He came back, shaking his head. ‘I thought I heard a creak on the stair. There are spies everywhere. We have to be so careful.’

  We made our plans swiftly and put them into execution the next day. Eubulus and I went to Ostia and obtained passage three days later on a coastal trader calling at Marseilles. From there we journeyed by road to Arles. It took several days of cautious enquiry to locate the small Christian community but when we did we had immediate success. Paul had, indeed, visited the city, had preached in the streets and the market place and had made an immediate impact, particularly among some of the military families. Thanks to influential friends and converts he had been protected from those who wanted to commend themselves to the authorities in Rome by deliberately seeking out exponents of the new religion.

  Of course, the question we wanted an answer to was ‘Where is Paul now?’ The answer was Nimes, some twenty miles away. He had, some four months earlier, become very weak, having narrowly survived a bout of fever. At the same time, orders had arrived from Rome, that all preachers of unauthorised cults were to be arrested and, if found guilty, executed. As soon as Paul was well enough to be moved, his friends had taken him to Nimes. The city, established by Augustus as a veteran college, enjoyed several privileges, including independence from the proconsul at Narbonne and exemption from some of the more tiresome imperial government directives. There, Paul would be safe.