The Inquest (34 page)

Capernaum, Northern Galilee, Tetrarchy of Trachonitis.
June, A.D.71

The water lapped gently at his feet, washing over his military sandals and soaking his toes. Sitting on a gray-white rock beside the lake, Questor Varro gazed contemplatively out onto the Sea of Galilee. Water seemed to have dominated his life of late, from the Jordan to the Mediterranean, from the Dead Sea to this inland sea. Here, the still waters had a restful effect on him, as he watched fishermen in their boats half a mile out, dragging in their nets. Peace was what he sought now. Increasingly he had come to feel that his mission was a waste of time, and a waste of life. Martius had died, Artimedes and others had died, and for what end? He was close to completing his report, but he considered it a feeble document which in no way justified the cost of its compilation.

“My lord?”

Varro jerked from his discontented thoughts and looked around, over his shoulder, to see Callidus, standing on the rock behind him. A little further back, in the shadow of the town wall, a veiled Miriam stood, with her hands clasped in front of her.

“Thank you, Callidus. That will be all. I shall see you back at camp.”

Flashing Miriam a disapproving glance, Callidus motioned for her to join the questor, then headed off toward the town’s Water Gate.

Varro smiled at Miriam. “Will you not sit beside me?” he called. “Please?” When she failed to move, he tried again. “Come and tell me what Jesus of Nazareth did here. I have read of it. There are letters, documents, which talk of him here at Capernaum.”

Slowly she approached, halting a little behind him.

“Sit,” he urged, patting the rock beside him. “I will not harm you. I swear, by all I hold sacred, I will never as much as lay a finger on you again.” “What he had done to her at Sodom had never left his mind. It had haunted him ever since that day.

Without a word, she settled on the rock, leaving a gap of several feet between them. While he looked to the southeast, she looked to the southwest.

“Philippus told me that you had been born here at Capernaum,” he said.

“As I was brought here to you, I passed by the house of my birth.”

“What was your father’s occupation?”

“Mostly he was a rogue.”

“He must have been a rogue to sell you into slavery.”

She shrugged. “He was one of those men who valued only sons. He had four daughters, and just the one son. Jacob.”

He could feel sadness washing over her at the mention of her dead brother, and quickly tried to divert her thoughts. “What did Jesus of Nazareth do here? I have read and heard a great deal concerning the Nazarene, but I am still struggling to know him.”

“Those who accept Him come to know Him,” she returned.

“I read that Jesus taught here.”

“Once, Jesus taught a multitude of people on the shores of this lake, and He took five loaves and two fishes, and fed them all. Then, He sent Simon Petra and the other apostles back across this lake, in a boat belonging to Simon Petra, toward this very shore. In the night, as they rowed,
a storm blew up, and the apostles encountered great difficulty rowing. Then, they saw Jesus walking past them, on the water…”

“He walked on the water?” Varro smiled gently at her. That anyone could believe such fantastic stories he found incredible. Were it any other person telling him this he would dismiss them as either gullible or unstable, or both. Yet, Miriam believed, and coming from her it seemed different somehow. He found her passion captivating.

Turning to him she saw his smile. “You are mocking me,” she said unhappily.

“I would never mock you, gentle Miriam. Tell me more. Please.”

“I know why you sent for me. You want me to forgive you. For Sodom.”

“I, er, no, no, I want to learn more about the Nazarene.” He lied badly.

“I do forgive you,” she said. “As the Lord forgives all those who seek His forgiveness. Sin comes from weakness. Repentance takes great strength. And I know that in your heart you now repent.”

He was hardly able to believe what he was hearing, as much as he had wanted to hear it. “You forgive me?”

“Truly.”

Callidus dawdled through the town, with Miriam on his mind. This girl was undeniably fetching. He had seen Marcus Martius’ eye taken by her, but, worse, he had seen the questor’s head turned by her. Callidus was certain that his master had fallen for Miriam, but up till now Varro had appeared not to recognize the depth of his own feelings for her. Over the past week or so, Callidus had sensed that situation beginning to change. His alarm had been heightened when he had overhead the questor telling Philippus the Evangelist that he might take Miriam to Rome. In what capacity, Callidus had wondered, and worried. If Varro took the girl to Rome merely to be a member of his mother’s staff, that was one thing, but if he had thoughts of making her his mistress, that, to Callidus was a different matter, a considerably different matter, and a threat to his own plans.

Callidus felt no loyalty to Octavia, daughter of Paganus the merchant. If, however, Callidus’ master were to leave Octavia in Antioch, taking Miriam to Rome as his mistress instead, not only would Octavia not go to Rome but neither would her buxom servant Priscilla, and that did concern Callidus. A great deal. In that event he could leave Julius Varro’s service to remain at Antioch and be near Priscilla, but only a fool would give up such an influential post with a man who was on his way up the ladder, a man with superb connections and who was obviously destined for great things at Rome.

There was only one answer. Rather than remove himself from the picture, Callidus felt that it was Miriam who should go. To his mind, if he could somehow disenchant the questor with the girl, so that Varro’s affections were once more directed wholly and solely to Octavia, then Callidus’ problem would be solved. There was already the revelation that Miriam was a follower of the Nazarene. Callidus wondered if he might not somehow exploit that to his advantage. As he ambled along, deep in scheming thought, he found himself outside the same back street tavern that he had frequented with the questor and his lictor several weeks before.

For the first time, he noticed the taverns name, The Two Goats, painted on a board suspended outside the wine house together with a rudimentary but recognizable illustration of two horned billy-goats butting each other. Looking at the sign in mild amusement, Callidus was suddenly
struck by the recollection that the questor’s first dream had featured a pair of goats. Intrigued, he walked up to the counter. The same two elderly tavern keepers were there, the two white-haired veterans of the 3rd Gallica Legion.

Recognizing him, they smiled broadly. “Welcome back, my good lord,” said one.

“Can we tempt you to a good wine, at an even better price?” said the other.

“Why not?” Callidus settled on a stone stool across the counter from them. “Fill me a cup. Four parts water to one part wine.” He watched as one of the tavern keepers directed servants to fill the order. “Tell me, how did the tavern come by its name?”

The second tavern keeper laughed. “We are the two old goats of the establishment’s title,” he said.

“We thought it apt, considering the name of the town,” called the other.

Callidus frowned. “How so?”

“
Caper
,” said one.

“And Naum,” said the other, returning to the counter.

Now it dawned on Callidus.
Caper
was Latin for goat. “Ah, it is a title of considerable wit. Considerable wit.”

“Not that we have the slightest idea who Naum was,” the first veteran laughed. “Some Jew or other.” His partner also laughed.

“You both seem in good humor,” said Callidus. “Business is on the improve?”

“No better than the last time you were here,” one old timer lamented.

“Very poor,” the other added, as a servant placed a full cup in front of his customer. “We need Germans in this town, drinking their wine undiluted and by the bucketful. We make so little profit we can barely feed ourselves, let alone our servants.”

A shame,” Callidus remarked, taking up the cup. “A considerable shame.” There was a pause as he sipped his wine.

“My good sir,” one tavern keeper began again, sounding hesitant, and glancing at his companion for reassurance, “when you and the questor were in Capernaum before, there was mention of a financial reward. For information.”

“Yes, concerning the death of Jesus of Nazareth,” Callidus acknowledged.

“How fares the questor s investigation in that regard?” asked the second old man.

“Well, a considerable amount of water has flowed under the bridge since the Nazarene was executed, of course,” Callidus returned. “It seems that all the witnesses who might have aided the inquiry are either dead or have disappeared. Why do you ask?”

The veterans looked at each other. “The reward?” asked one. “It would be large?”

Callidus shrugged. “The better the information, the larger the reward.”

The pair nodded to each other, as if in silent agreement.

“What if we were to tell you,” one began, “that we could have information?”

Callidus raised an eyebrow. “You two? You have information?”

“We did not always serve with the 3rd Gallica Legion,” said one.

“Like all centurions,” the other continued, “we were transferred from legion to legion as we were promoted. We retired from the 3rd Gallica, but we were with seven legions in all over the years, following each other from posting to posting like brothers.”

“In the year that Jesus of Nazareth was executed,” said the other, “we were still rank and file, serving with the 2nd Cohort of the 12th Legion. At Jerusalem.”

Callidus was so surprised that his mouth dropped open and he loosened his grip on the cup in his hand. Red wine spilled down the front of his tunic. “You were at Jerusalem? He set down his
cup. “At the very time that Jesus of Nazareth was executed?’

“We were not only there…” said one tavern keeper, glancing at his comrade.

The other looked Callidus steadily in the eye, so there was no mistaking what he was about to say. “We were members of Jesus of Nazareth’s execution squad.”

Callidus found the questor where he had left him, although now he was deep in conversation with the Jewish girl beside him. Their intimacy only raised the freedman’s ire. Still, he consoled himself as he came up behind the pair, the news he was about to impart would swiftly take the questor’s mind off Miriam. “My lord, great news!”

Varro and Miriam broke off their conversation. “What news, Callidus?” said Varro with a scowl.

“The two goats, my lord! The two goats in your dream. They are running a tavern in Capernaum.”

Varro looked at him as if he were mad.

Callidus burst into a grin. “You yourself met them when last we were in this town, my lord: the proprietors of the Two Goats Tavern. Little did we know then, but during the reign of Tiberius the two old goats were with the 12th Legion at Jerusalem. They crucified Jesus of Nazareth!”

Miriam let out a gasp.

Varro instantly came to his feet. “They will willingly give testimony?”

“Willing, my lord. It was the promise of a reward that bestirred their memory.”

Varro strode off toward the Water Gate. “Take Miriam back to the camp,” he ordered. “She is to assist Pythagoras. Then return quickly to me.”

Callidus looked down at Miriam. “Up!” he snapped, stooping and taking her arm and dragging her to her feet. Miriam shook free of his grasp and went stomping off in the questor’s wake. Smiling to himself, Callidus followed. This latest turn of events, he told himself, had very nicely put the cat among the pigeons.

Varro meanwhile hurried through the town toward the Magdala Gate and the expedition’s camp beyond it. For this testimony he would summon Crispus, Pythagoras, Pedius, and Antiochus to join him. This time too, he would have Diocles present. In the past he had regretted not having the benefit of the physician’s expert medical knowledge when questioning informants; he would not make the same mistake twice.

The revelation that the two old tavern keepers had executed the Nazarene had come as a shock. After becoming resolved to an incomplete investigation and an insufficient report, to have two such important witnesses materialize at the last moment was, to Varro’s mind, either a gift from the gods or a cause for suspicion. He was conscious of the fact that Philippus had steered him to Capernaum. He had suspected that the Evangelist had sent him here to become closer to Miriam, a Nazarene; perhaps Philippus thought she could convert Varro to their faith, as she had vainly tried to convert Martius on his deathbed. But as fond of the girl as he was, Varro had no intention of letting her steer him toward adopting the Nazarene doctrine. As far as he was concerned the wild stories surrounding Jesus of Nazareth such as the fanciful tale of a walk on water could find no place in an intelligent mind. Miriam could say what she liked, she could not change the beliefs of Julius Varro. His defenses were sound: a solid wall of rationality, a deep
fosse
of self reliance.

As he walked, the possibility also occurred to the questor that Philippus had put Miriam up to influencing the questor in another way. Perhaps he had given her the task of subverting Varro’s report, or even of trying to convince Varro not to deliver his testament to protect the myth of the resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth. Varro would not put such a ploy past the wily old Nazarene, but not even the heart-stopping Miriam could make him do what he did not want to do. There was of course another possibility, that Philippus was somehow behind the sudden appearance of these two new witnesses. Could Philippus have used contacts in the town to bribe this pair to come forward, to give false witness to a story which supported the myth of the resurrection? It was with increasing doubt that Varro reached the camp and ordered Centurion Gallo to take a detachment of his men to the Two Goats Tavern in the town, there to secure the two tavern keepers and then bring the pair to the questor without delay.

The white-bearded secretary methodically and deliberately set out his writing instruments on the table in front of him. On the floor beside him knelt Miriam, unwrapping wax tablets from their damp linen coverings. The questor had assigned her to the secretary’s staff. She was educated, and like Antiochus was fluent in three languages. She may or may not prove useful. Not that it mattered to Pythagoras; as far as he was concerned the girl was the questor’s plaything, and Varro had obviously given her this appointment to please her. What did concern Pythagoras was the appearance of these new witnesses. This was a promising turn of events.