The Inquest (14 page)

“He said that he saw wounds on His hands and feet, where our Lord had been nailed to the cross.”

“Nailed? Not tied?”

“Yes, nailed, my lord.”

“Do you know a man by the name of Boethus bar Joazar?”

Enoch looked mystified. “No, my lord, I do not know such a man.”

The questor went on to ask whether the couple was acquainted with Philippus the Evangelist. Clearly suspicious of Varro’s motives, they said they did not know the man. To reassure the couple, Varro stressed that his inquiries had nothing to do with the Jewish Revolt; he was only interested in learning more about Jesus of Nazareth.

Varro’s questioning was now interrupted. Pythagoras came hurrying in holding aloft a parchment scroll. “
Eureka
! I have found it, questor!” Pythagoras victoriously declared. “I have found the warrant, for the execution of Jesus of Nazareth.” He hurried across the hall to a table where he could unravel the document, and Varro joined him. “The archival records have been meticulously kept, all the way back to the founding of the province in the reign of Augustus Caesar,” Pythagoras explained. “All I had to do was go to the criminal records section for the years during the last half of Tiberius’ reign in which the execution was most likely to have taken place. A few diligent hours looking for the execution of one particular resident of Nazareth, and here we are!”

Varro and his colleagues crowded around the table as Pythagoras fixed the document in question in a reading frame.

“When is it dated?” Varro asked.

“The day and month correspond with the beginning of the Jewish Festival of Unleavened Bread, or the Passover as it is also called. As for the year, it was…” Pythagoras read aloud, “in the reign of ‘Tiberius Julius Caesar Augustus, in the consulship of Aelius Sejanus and Cassius Longinus.’ That places the execution forty-one years ago. Now, see here…” He pointed to the name of the convicted man, “‘Joshua bar Josephus, native of Jerusalem.’ This is our man, questor.”

They read the details, which stated that Joshua bar Josephus had been condemned to death by crucifixion for sedition, in that he had borne arms against Rome. The warrant had been authorized by Gaius Pontius Pilatus, Prefect of Judea. A note, in a hand other than that which had written the warrant as a whole, certified that the execution had been carried out and that the body of the prisoner had been handed over to his family for burial. That note was certified, ‘Longinus, Centurion.’

“There is more, questor,” said Pythagoras. “There are also warrants in the archives for the execution of three other Jews from Galilee that same day, similarly for bearing arms against Rome. Also, dated that same day again, a pardon, for one of these other three, a Joshua bar Abbas. All under the seal of Prefect Pilatus.”

Varro was thrilled. “Well done, Pythagoras. Find me more written evidence of this quality. At last, we are making progress.”

As Pythagoras hastened back to the archives to rejoin Artimedes in the search for further relevant documents, a messenger arrived from Centurion Gallo. It transpired that late in the day, information from a slave had led Gallo and a party of his legionaries to a large residence in a block of houses and tenement buildings in the Jewish quarter of the city. This, according to the informant, was the house of Philippus the Evangelist. Gallo sent word to the questor that the door was barred, and that no one inside the house would respond to his calls to open up. Varro and his colleagues hurried from the fortress to the Jewish quarter, bringing the remainder of Gallo’s soldiers and Crispus’ cavalry.

“I sealed off front and rear of the house with the men I had,” the centurion reported as his superior arrived, “but occupants may have escaped across the rooftops.”

Most of these homes stood empty, after a number of Jewish residents had either gone to Jerusalem for the last fatal Passover Festival or joined the partisans in the uprising, and the buildings showed signs of a lack of attention over the past five years, with dusty walls, flaking paint and encroaching weeds. But the house identified as belonging to Philippus the Evangelist seemed to have been tended with care.

Varro sent Gallo’s men against the barred front doors with a timber battering ram ten feet long brought from the fortress. After the ram shattered the wooden doors, soldiers poured in through the opening with swords drawn. The two-story house was searched from top to bottom, but not a single occupant was found. Yet, in master’s quarters and servants quarters a like the furniture was in place, and food, clothing and personal possessions had been left as if the residents had only stepped out briefly, and hurriedly. To question everyone passing in and out of Caesarea for news of Philippus, Varro now sent some of his troops to join the guards at the city’s gates. Leaving Gallo and some of his men searching the dwelling thoroughly for evidence, Varro returned to the white fortress. Several hours later, with darkness descending on the city, the questor was preparing for dinner when a message arrived from Gallo: he had found a horde of documents in the Evangelist’s house. Varro and his colleagues hurriedly rejoined him.

In a small undecorated room at the back of the house the centurion had noticed a loose stone in a door lintel. Removing it, he had discovered a hollow space, and in the space he located a long, thin leather bag filled with documents. When the questor and his party returned, they found that Gallo had brought in most of the lamps in the house to light the room and had laid the newfound documents on a high, narrow table. The questor instructed his senior secretary to inspect the find.

“Copies of letters, some written in Greek, some in Hebrew,” Pythagoras pronounced after an initial perusal.

Varro summoned Antiochus, and, while he read the Hebrew letters, Pythagoras concentrated on those in Greek. The room was too small to comfortably accommodate more than a few people at a time, so Varro had it cleared of all personnel other than Pythagoras and Antiochus. He himself took a seat on a wooden bench outside the door, and waited for the analysis. As the questor sat there, gazing absently into the room, his mind wandered, to the first time he had laid eyes on Miriam, at Queen Berenice’s palace. All of a sudden, something curious caught Varro’s eye and brought his mind back to the here and now. Some of the oil lamps in the little room stood on the reading table, some on wall ledges, some on the floor. Several lamps on the tiles at the back of the room fluttered occasionally, doing a wavering dance that bent their orange flame and sent a slender tail of black smoke snaking toward the ceiling, before resuming their normal upright glow. Yet, the flames of the other lamps hardly deviated from the vertical.

A man with an eye for detail, the questor rose and took one lamp from a ledge and placed it
in the open doorway, then resumed his seat. The lamp in the doorway did not flutter, suggesting that no significant draught was entering the room via the door. Varro sent for Martius, and when the tribune joined him he pointed out the phenomenon of the fluttering lamps. “What do you think? Varro asked his deputy. “Is it my imagination?”

“I think that something is definitely not as it should be,” Martius concluded.

So, Varro instructed Pythagoras and Antiochus to step out of the room, and told Centurion Gall to investigate the cause of the fluttering lamps while Varro and Martius stood in the doorway and watched him at work. Behind them crowded soldiers and other members of the questor’s entourage, craning their necks for a view of proceedings. Gallo, on his hands and” bare knees and with his head touching the marble-tiled floor, peered at the bottom of the wall at the back of the room. Feeling a draught hitting his eyes, he ran a finger along the base of the wall, between wall and floor. At one point, the tip of his finger slipped into a narrow crevice. “There is a narrow gap here, my lord,” he called. “A gap the width of a small doorway.” Then he stood, and ran his hand over the stuccoed wall, which was painted a flat, bland green. Putting his nose to the wall, he sniffed it. “The paint is fresh, my lord, and so too, I would wager, is the stucco beneath it. This section of the wall has recently been rendered and painted.” He rapped the wall. “Hollow,” he proclaimed. “There is a cavity behind this wall, questor.”

“Bring down the wall, centurion,” Varro instructed.

Soon, Gallo and alternating teams of bare-headed legionaries were attacking the wall with entrenching tools and iron bars. The men, and the room, were soon covered with dust. The lime, gypsum and fine sand of the stucco coated their hair, penetrated their eyes, and forced them to regularly spit to keep lips and mouths lubricated. But before long a rectangular block of stone tumbled out of the wall. Calling a halt to demolition work, Gallo instructed one of his men to take a look in through the gap. Nervously, the young soldier, on one knee and with a lamp in hand, pushed his head and the lamp in through the cavity in the wall. Perspiration stood out on the legionary’s brow at the vulnerability of his position, and his muscles tensed as he prepared to recoil in an instant if some weapon or missile were to come his way.

“A man!” the soldier suddenly cried. “There are steps, centurion, and at the bottom, I see a man. No, two! Perhaps more.” He quickly withdrew back into the room.

“Are they armed?” Gallo queried.

“Not that I could see.”

Gallo had his men resume work on the wall. Before long, a gap large enough for a man to pass through was created. In the light of lamps held at the opening, it could be seen that on the far side, at the bottom of a set of narrow stone steps, three pale and frightened men, apparently servants, cringed around an elderly figure with a white beard. The aromas of foul air, urine and feces escaped from this uninviting hole in the ground. It was if Gallo’s men had tapped into the city’s sewer.

As Varro came to the opening, his men stood aside. “Are you Philippus, the one they call the Evangelist?” he called down.

“I am he,” came the weary reply from the bearded man. “I am Philippus. I will come out, but please, I beg of you, do not punish my servants. They share my house but not any guilt which you may attach to me for hiding from you.”

“I guarantee that none of you will be harmed in any way. I merely seek information. You have the word of Julius Terentius Varro.”

The old man struggled up the steps, followed by his servants. The centurion helped him into the room.

“Bring a bench for Philippus,” Varro commanded, and soldiers carried in the bench which he himself had used.

“Thank you,” said the old man as he gratefully sagged onto the seat, ashen-faced and exhausted. His servants emerged from the hole and knelt on the floor around him, looking up at him with a mixture of reverence and concern.

“How long have you been in there?” Varro asked, standing looking down at Philippus as his colleagues crowded the doorway behind to watch and listen.

“Several days,” Philippus replied.

“You had yourself sealed in there?” said Varro in a reproving tone.

“It is an old passageway,” Philippus revealed, “built during the time of Herod. It emerges beyond my neighbor’s house, and a little fresh air enters from outside; enough for survival. I was trying to protect my people. I do not fear for my own life. I have four daughters, and all have the gift of prophesy. Each and every one predicted the destruction of Jerusalem, but none foresee my death for many a year yet. One of my daughters lives at the city of Tralles, in the province of Asia. Do you know it?”

“I know of it.”

“My daughter at Tralles has predicted that I will die in her arms, so perhaps I will go to Tralles one day.” He smiled, as if sharing a joke. “One day, but not yet a while.”

“That being the case,” said Martius, lounging in the doorway at the forefront of the onlookers, “it would pay you never to go to Tralles.”

“I am told that you knew Jesus of Nazareth,” Varro resumed.

Philippus’ smile lingered. “I knew Him. I know Him still.”

“He is still alive?” said Varro with surprise.

“He lives in me, and in many like me.”

Varro frowned. “Is he dead, or is he not?”

“He no longer walks this earth, if that is what you mean.”

“How was it that you came to know him?”

“I was one of His seventy original disciples.”

Varro felt a thrill of elation. He was drawing closer to his quarry. “You are one of his followers still?”

“I remain His humble servant.”

“Did you witness his execution?”

“I was here, at Caesarea, at the time of the crucifixion. I regret to say that an illness prevented me from going up to Jerusalem for the Passover that year.”

“You believe that he was the Messiah, that he rose from the dead?”

Philippus smiled again. “Whether I believed it or not, it would still be true.

“You were intimately acquainted with him during his lifetime?”

“During the last years of His time here with us, yes.”

Varro was thoughtful for a moment. “You will be tired, and hungry,” he then said.

“That is true,” Philippus replied. “But that is a small trial, in a life full of trials.”

“You will go now to the fortress. Not as a prisoner, but as my guest. You will eat, and sleep. Tomorrow, refreshed, you will testify to all you know about the Nazarene.”

“What of my people?” Philippus asked, casting a hand around his disheveled servants. “I care nothing for myself, but they are innocents.”

“Answer me truthfully tomorrow, and they shall go free.”

Philippus looked at Varro a moment. “You appear an honest man. If I know that you are
bound by your pledge of honor, then I shall testify willingly, and truthfully.”

“You have it. In front of these witnesses, you have my word that your servants shall go free if you testify truthfully.”

“Be certain of this one thing,” Philippus added. “I will answer with an open heart, but I will incriminate no man.”

“I seek the truth, Philippus. Nothing more, nothing less. Until the morrow, then.”

Leaving the room, Varro called Centurion Gallo and instructed him to take the Evangelist to the fortress where he was to clean him up, feed him, and to allow him to obtain a restful night’s sleep in preparation for further questioning next day. “Bring Philippus before me in the Judgment Hall tomorrow morning at the third hour,” Varro ordered. “Keep his slaves apart from him, and chain him to one of your men at all times. There must be no opportunity for him to abscond or to harm himself. And, you may release Enoch and his wife. Let it be known that no harm comes to my informants.”