The Inquest (12 page)

At last, a stroke of luck. Just as Varro was planning to resume his march and move on to Nazareth, birthplace of Jesus, a resident of Tiberias came forward offering information. The city governor sent him to Varro’s camp escorted by a squadron of Agrippa’s cavalry. The informant was an elderly man, a gnarled Galilean Jew who went by the name of Laban bar Nahor. Bald, bent, and crippled, he walked with the aid of a myrtle stick. When he stood in front of Varro in the questor’s tent he swayed uneasily on his feet. Varro had Hostilis provide him with a stool.

“Your Excellency,” said the old man once he was seated, locking bony fingers over the top of his stick, “I do not know if what I have to tell will be of interest. I cannot personally testify to anything about the death of Jesus of Nazareth. I did not know him.” He cast his eyes around the other Romans in the tent, Martius, Crispus, Pythagoras, Artimedes, Callidus, and Pedius, as if to gauge their reaction to his words. “Yet, I am familiar with one who did know him, and who could tell you of his death, for he was there, at the execution. He once told me so.”

Varro nodded. “His name?”

“His name is Boethus bar Joazar, Excellency, and he was at one time a neighbor of mine. Boethus came from Capernaum after the Revolt began. He resided in Tiberias until recent times, when he traveled to Caesarea. He has a daughter living at Caesarea.”

“What connection did this Boethus bar Joazar have with Jesus of Nazareth?” Varro asked, glancing to Pythagoras on his right to satisfy himself that the secretary had noted down the details. As if reading his mind, Pythagoras, working with stylus and wax tablet, nodded confirmation that he had the man’s name.

“Boethus told me that he had been a follower of a Johannes, who was called the Baptist. When the Baptist was imprisoned at Cypros and then Macherus by Antipas, Boethus took messages back and forth between the Baptist and Jesus of Nazareth, who was a cousin of the Baptist. After the death of the Baptist, Jesus continued his work, and my neighbor Boethus became a follower of his doctrine.”

“He was present at the Nazarene’s execution?” Varro asked.

“That is what he told me, Excellency.”

“Did he also claim to have seen the Nazarene alive following his execution?”

Old Laban smiled. “No, Excellency.”

Martius asked a question. “Are you a follower of the Nazarene, old man?

Laban continued to smile. “Do I look like a Nazarene, my lord?”

“What does a Nazarene look like?” Martius countered.

“Not like this shriveled old prune of a Jew,” Laban returned with a weary smile.

“What did Boethus tell you about the execution?” Varro asked.

“Only that he had been a young man at the time, and that he had watched the Nazarene die on the cross. He saw him taken down, and taken away to be interred.”

“Jesus was dead?” Varro asked.

Laban pulled a face. “Why would he be taken down if he were not, Excellency?”

“Boethus did not say anything to indicate he thought the Nazarene still lived?”

“Boethus told me that he believed that the Nazarene rose from the dead two days after his
death on a cross.”

“So, he believed that Jesus was the Jews’ so-called Messiah?”

“I understand that Boethus thought so. We agreed to differ in that regard.”

When Varro paused to reflect on what Laban had told them, Martius asked another question. “What reward do you seek, old man, for your information?”

“I seek no reward, my lord.”

“You wish to cause trouble for this Boethus, is that it?” the tribune suggested.

“No, my lord. I assure you…”

“What then? You came here with a reward in mind. Admit it! Speak up now!”

Tears began to form in the old man’s eyes. “I have a son, and a grandson. They went to Jerusalem five years ago for the Passover, and they never returned.” He turned to Varro. “Your Excellency, if there is anything you can do…If they still live, perhaps your Excellency can help them. I know that you are a good man. If you could send them home to me, Excellency, this is all I ask. Their names are Baruch and Tobias. My son Baruch, and Tobias, the son of Baruch. I beg you to save them.”

Varro looked into the old man’s swollen eyes and sighed. “You know that a great many people died in the siege of Jerusalem, or were made prisoners? It is very likely that your son and your grandson are no longer alive, or have been sent into slavery.”

Laban attempted a brave smile. “I know, Excellency. Yet, I am a foolish old man, and even at my age I can still believe in the power of prayer.”

“Very well. We have the names of your son and grandson. If they live, and if it is in my power to do so, they will be sent home to you.”

The old man closed his eyes, so the Romans would not see him cry.

“This Nazarene, Boethus bar Joazar,” said Varro. “You say he is in Caesarea?”

Without opening his eyes, the old man nodded slowly.

Territory of Southern Galilee, Roman Province or Judea.
April, A.D. 71

On the route south through the dry hills, just below the junction with the road to Ptolemais and the Mediterranean, lay the village of Nazareth. Before the Varro column reached the place, the disfigured decurion Pompeius rode back from the advance guard.

“The people in the village are preparing to flee, questor,” he reported. “They must know that you are coming. Do you want my men to round them up?”

“Yes, bring them to the center of the village. But take care not to harm anyone.”

The cavalryman urged his horse forward, and went galloping off to rejoin his waiting troop. The hillside village, with many of its houses in ruins, was deserted when the column reached it a little later. Soon, villagers began to make a reluctant return, some leading mules laden with their belongings, others burdened with all they could carry on their backs, all herded along like sheep by Pompeius’ troopers. Little more than thirty in number, the elderly and women with children, they were brought to the middle of the village, where Varro, his officers, freedmen and advisers waited on horseback. The other elements of the column had halted south of Nazareth.

Varro called Antiochus forward, instructing him to address the villagers in Aramaic, with a request for relatives of Yehoshua bar Josephus, also known as Joshua bar Davidus and Jesus of Nazareth, and for people with information regarding the death of Jesus forty years before. None of the clearly terrified villagers moved a muscle after Antiochus’ call, so Varro asked for any followers of the Nazarene to identify themselves. Again there was no response. With increasing frustration, Varro asked for anyone who knew anything at all about Jesus, adding that they would be well rewarded. Again, Antiochus translated the questor’s request to the villagers.

After a pause, a long-faced man in his sixties stepped forward, dragging his unwilling wife with him. He wore a simple tunic, she a long gown belted at the waist, and, like all the women, a modest head covering. Nervous, but in good Latin, the man identified himself as Malachi, and his wife as Doris. Then he said, “If we were to show Your Lordship the house where Jesus was raised, my wife and I would be rewarded?”

“Indeed,” the delighted Varro quickly agreed. Progress at last.

“We would not be punished?” The man’s eyes flashed around the Romans.

Varro shook his head. “You have my word that neither you nor anyone else in the village will be harmed in any way. Lead on. Show me the house.”

The couple conducted the Roman officers to a tumbled-down house not far from the center of town. “The house of Josephus bar Heli, father of the one you call Jesus,” said Malachi. “While the boy was growing up here we knew him as Yehoshua.”

“This is the house of Jesus’ family?” said Varro with interest, dis-mounting to take a closer look at what had once been a substantial residence on two floors. He beckoned Pedius, indicating that the lictor should precede him on the inspection.

“Yes, this is it, the palace of the Messiah,” said Malachi mockingly, his confidence growing.

Pedius had handed the
fasces
to his servant Austinus for safe keeping, and now equipped with his staff of office he went ahead, pushing aside the remains of a front door, allowing the questor to enter a long rectangular courtyard, desolate and overgrown.

“Where is the family now?” Varro called.

While his wife waited outside, Malachi ventured after the questor and his lictor. “They all left Nazareth when I was a young man,” the Jew said as he followed Varro into the courtyard. “The father died when Yehoshua was in his twenties. The mother Miriam, the sons, the daughters, they all left after Yehoshua was executed. It was quite a scandal at the time. Their neighbors would not talk to them. Everyone was afraid they would bring the authorities down on us all. After all, the man had been convicted of sedition.”

Varro and Pedius had walked to the far end of the courtyard. “The family left no relative here at Nazareth?” the questor asked, as his eyes traversed the time-weathered stone walls and invasive creeping vines.

“Not one. The family was not from here originally. They did not mix well. They were a very devout family, and people here thought they had airs about themselves. Miriam was related by marriage to Zecharias, a Pharisee and one of the senior priests at Jerusalem. Zecharias was numbered among the councilors of the Great Sanhedrin, and while he lived was a man of standing and influence.”

Using his staff, Pedius pushed aside fallen roof timbers in a doorway so that his chief could take a look inside the shell of the house. The flat roof and upper floor had caved in some years before. Roof tiles had been pilfered; only rotting timbers remained.

“Tell me about the brothers and sisters.” Varro stepped into the gloomy interior. In his head he imagined the chattering voices, the bickering, the laughter, of a family of nine or ten filling these rooms. Crumbling wood crunched beneath his careless tread.

“Five boys in all,” said Malachi, following on Varro’s heel. “Apart from Yehoshua, there was, let me see, as you would call them—Jacob, Joses, Simon, and Judas. As for the girls, I cannot recall their names. We saw little of them; Jewish girls do not leave the house. All the boys except Yehoshua helped their father with his carpentry business. Josephus went around the Jewish cities and towns, working on building projects, producing items of furniture; but he stayed clear of the unclean Greek cities.”

“Jesus, or Yehoshua, or Joshua, did he work as a carpenter?”

“No, he was encouraged from an early age to follow the religious life. Miriam’s cousin Elizabeth used her influence with her husband Zecharias to ensure the boy received the best instruction regarding Jewish Law. Yehoshua left Nazareth before he reached his twenties. I heard that he and his cousin Johannes studied with the Essenes in the wilderness. This cousin was the Johannes they call the Baptist. The Baptist remained with the Essenes until just two or three years before his death, but Yehoshua went to study with the Pharisees and the Sadducees, as a devout Jew should, but then joined Johannes when he began to preach his particular doctrine throughout the Jordan valley.”

“Did Jesus frequently return here, to the village?”

“Very rarely. I remember the last occasion well, only a year or two before his death. He was known to have been studying the Law, so, on the Sabbath day, he was invited to read from the holy books at our synagogue. I was there. What a disaster it was!” Malachi threw his hands in the air. “Yehoshua so upset the people of the village by what he said…You would not believe how angry the villagers were.”

“What did he say that upset the people?”

“Oh, all manner of sacrilegious things. How he had been chosen by the Almighty to lead the people; things of that nature. He was thrown out of Nazareth, and told never to come back. And in no uncertain terms, I can tell you. Good riddance, I said.”

“Where did the family go after they left Nazareth?”

“The mother had relatives at Jerusalem and also at Bethany, the father at Bethlehem, so we assumed they went to one or other of those places. We later heard that several of the boys were living at Jerusalem. Jacob, the second eldest, had also been given religious training, and he took charge of the sect that Yehoshua had inherited from the Baptist, the sect they now call the Nazarenes. Jacob was later stoned to death. I have not heard what happened to the other brothers, but I think they must all be dead by now.”

Varro stooped and took up the weathered remains of a simple wooden stool. All three legs had been broken off. Perhaps Josephus had made it, and perhaps his eldest son had sat on it. Perhaps not. “I have seen enough,” he said, discarding the piece of wood. Passing through the courtyard he walked back out into the street, where his officers waited. Hostilis boosted him back up into the saddle and handed him his reins.

Malachi and his wife came to the questor’s horse, looking up at him. “Was the information of value, my lord?” Malachi asked plaintively. “A reward was mentioned.”

“Your information was scant,” the questor replied. “Next to worthless.”

Malachi and his wife looked at each other.

“If you want more, I can give you more,” Malachi’s gray-faced wife Doris then announced, becoming vocal for the first time. “His followers say that Yehoshua was such a wonderful man, and a descendant of King David,” she said, in a venomous voice, “but they fail to tell you whose seed he really came from.”

“Tell me, then,” Varro urged.

“How much is it worth?” She stood with her hands on her ample hips.

He thought for a moment. “A gold piece.”

“Two!”

Varro shrugged. “Very well, if the information is good, two gold pieces.”

Doris rubbed her hands together. “You have a bargain, Your Honor. The true story is this: Miriam was betrothed to Josephus when she fell pregnant. Yes, and a great scandal it was. Her cousin Elizabeth was then six months into her own term with her son Johannes, the one who would become the Baptist. Now, instead of putting Miriam away as an adulteress, as he could have, and should have, old Josephus, Miriam’s betrothed, he goes ahead and marries her anyway. Silly fool!” Her face became decorated with a wicked smile. “Now comes the best part, Your Honor. The rumor at the time was that Miriam had been deflowered by a Roman soldier by the name of Panthera, the centurion in charge of this area. He lived at Capernaum, I think.”

“No, wife, the centurion was from Sepphoris,” her husband contradicted her. “In those times, Galilee was ruled from Sepphoris.”

Doris turned to her husband with a scowl. “No, I think it was Capernaum,” she persisted. “Not that it matters.” She looked up to Varro again. “What is important is that if the rumor is true, my lord, then Yehoshua bar Josephus, or Jesus of Nazareth if you prefer, was the bastard son of a Roman centurion!” She roared with laughter. “The Nazarenes’ holy Messiah was half Roman!”

Behind him, Varro also heard young Venerius burst into laughter. Whether the junior tribune was sharing the woman’s derision of the Nazarene or his mirth was directed at Doris, the questor neither knew nor cared. Varro frowned down at the woman. “What proof do you have of this?”

Doris’ laughter subsided. “As I said, it was a rumor. A widespread rumor, just the same, Your Honor. It was on everyone’s lips.”

Varro shook his head. “For factual information I pay two gold pieces. For gossip…Pay them what they are worth, Callidus. Martius, order the column forward.”

Varro rode on. Callidus reached into his purse, pulled out a single gold coin, and tossed it at the feet of Malachi and Doris. As the couple dropped to their knees and scrabbled competitively for the coin, the freedman urged his horse forward.

The questor halted his steed at the top of the street, and there he waited for the column to roll past, on the move again and bound for the coast. Before long the body of the expedition swung into and through the village. Looking back down the dusty thoroughfare toward the house of the family of Jesus, he saw Miriam the slave girl behind the freedmen, riding on her mule. Her eyes were fixed on the house where the Nazarene had been raised, where the townspeople clustered still. When her mule drew level with Varro he spurred his horse into motion, and moved in beside her on his taller steed.

“What was your interest in the house of Jesus of Nazareth?” he asked.

Her head tilted up to him. She studied him for a moment from behind her veil, then said, “Was that the house of the Nazarene? He was, by all accounts, a good man.”

“Do you believe that Jesus rose from the dead and was a god, Miriam?”

“I believe that the Almighty is all-powerful,” she said with certainty and conviction. “A Roman like you, with all your gods, you could not possibly understand.”

He laughed. She was spirited and courageous as well as beautiful, he told himself, and his special treatment of her was allowing a defiant streak to emerge. Miriam could not know that when first she had joined his party Varro had thought of sending her up to Antioch, to join the servants in the household of Paganus the merchant, but Martius had talked him out of it; if Queen Berenice were to find out that Varro had given the girl away, the questor’s deputy had cautioned, she might be offended. Varro said no more to the girl. He urged his horse to the trot and quickly moved up to the head of the column.

Without a backward glance, Varro left the village of Nazareth behind. Yet, as the expedition made its way through the hills, Varro lapsed into deep thought, inspired by his brief exchange with Miriam. He considered himself a devout man, and certainly no less devout than the Jews. He observed all the feast days of the gods, he performed all the required sacrifices, he honored his mother, he revered the memory of his ancestors. Every morning, whether at home or traveling, he paid obeisance at his family shrine. The concept of a man becoming a god was not alien to Varro, or to other Romans. Julius Caesar and many of the emperors of Rome who came after the dictator had been deified after their deaths. They had their own temples, their own priesthoods, their own sacred days and festivals. Not that Varro was convinced that any of them truly were gods. As for this Nazarene, he was no Julius Caesar, he was no Roman emperor, and no Roman emperor had come back from the dead. An unconscious smile appeared on the questor’s lips. That would truly be an event to convince him that a mere mortal had godly powers, if a Caesar were’ to rise from the dead.

The expedition camped in the ruins of the town of Gaba on the road to Caesarea. Once his officers and freedmen had departed his tent after dinner, Varro decided he would take in the night air. Summoning Pedius for company, he wrapped himself in a cloak against the unseasonable chill then wandered the camp streets, lingering in the shadows to listen to conversations around the men’s campfires, hearing opinions about chariot racing and gladiators and the likelihood that this mission they were on was a wild goose chase.

Varro and Pedius moved on. As they approached the parked baggage train, behind the horse
corral, they heard a woman’s voice, raised, and tinged with alarm. There was only one woman in the Varro camp. Varro and his lictor quickened their step. Hurrying around carts and wagons, they came on the tent of Miriam. The girl stood outside it, a bronze water bucket in one hand. She was using the other hand to fend off three unarmed legionaries, mere youths the lot of them, and all of them laughing and jesting.