The Inquest (35 page)

Pythagoras wanted the questor’s Nazarene report to achieve General Collega’s objective, to totally and irrevocably slay the myth that Jesus of Nazareth had risen from the dead. But he had his own motive for such an outcome. Licinius Mucianus had left Pythagoras at Antioch to help Collega administer his provinces, taking Pythagoras’ deputy Sophocles to Rome with him. Now, Sophocles ran the Palatium and its one hundred and thirty-two under-secretaries, and, in effect, ran the Empire. This worried Pythagoras. When he returned to Rome in the new year, would Mucianus, who admired efficiency and embraced expediency, relegate Sophocles in Pythagoras’ favor? Or might Mucianus suggest to Pythagoras that he go into retirement instead? He dreaded such a premature end to his career. A report which demolished the doctrine of the Nazarenes could save that career, or even project it to new heights.

Pythagoras glanced up to see two elderly, white-haired men being escorted into the
pretorium
by Gallo. On the testimony of this pair could hang Pythagoras’ future. More than once he had heard Mucianus declare of philosophers and prophets: ‘These people band men together to air seditious thoughts, to insult those in power, to incite the multitudes, to overthrow the established order of things and bring about revolution. Such men are a danger to Rome and her stable government.’ Yet, to the secretary’s mind, the report that he and the questor had compiled to date was like a toothless lion. Despite the months devoted to this enterprise, the notes on the wax tablets piled high in an expedition cart did not contain the incontrovertible evidence that would satisfy Collega or Mucianus. The two old tavern keepers now standing before the questor could change all that.

“In consideration of your age you may both sit to give your evidence,” said Varro.

The two veterans gratefully took a seat on a wooden bench facing the questor’s table. Their eyes took in the gathered officials, and rested briefly on locked chests stacked at the rear of the
pretorium
, containing the annual tax collection of the province of Judea, which had been handed over to the questor at Caesarea by Procurator Liberius and was being taken up to Antioch. The
questor himself sat on the couch at the head of the ‘U.’ His servant Hostilis knelt on the floor behind the couch. On the couch to the left of the questor sat Prefect Crispus, Pedius the lictor, and Callidus. To the right sat the Jewish magistrate Antiochus and Diocles the physician. Pythagoras was installed at the writing table in the corner; a servant knelt beside him to provide fresh tablets of wax as required. Centurion Gallo stood at the
pretorium
door with hands clasped behind his back.

“You say that you are Sextus Atticus and Lucius Scaurus, natives of Cisalpine Gaul,” the questor began, “and you are discharged veterans of the 3rd Gallica Legion.”

“We are they, my lord,” the two tavern keepers replied in unison.

“You have provided Centurion Gallo with your notices of military discharge,” Varro nodded to two thin bronze plates lying on the table in front of them; each had been inscribed by hand with the date and place of the ex soldier’s enrolment, a list of the units with which they had served, including the 12th Legion, and the date and place of their honorable discharge from the Roman army. Both notices had been authorized by the military tribune of the 3rd Gallica Legion. “None the less, I must confirm that you did serve at Jerusalem at the time you say. Firstly who commanded the Jerusalem garrison at the time of the execution of Jesus of…”

“Centurion Longinus,” Scaurus enthusiastically interjected.

Varro nodded. “Where was the
pretorium
located at Jerusalem?”

“In the Antonia Fortress,” Atticus advised without a moment s thought.

“There was a judgment hall in the Antonia. What name did the Jews give this?”

Atticus and Scaurus looked vaguely at each other. “We cannot recall the Hebrew word for it,” Scaurus then said.

“In our language,” said Atticus, “it was The Pavement.”

“Very well, I accept that you served at Jerusalem. However…” He still sounded guarded. “I must ask why you have come forward with information at this time.”

Atticus and Scaurus looked at each other, before Atticus spoke. “My lord, we did consider coming forward when last you were in Capernaum.”

“At that time we decided against it,” said Scaurus. “Our present depressed economic state convinced us that perhaps this time we should not be so reticent.”

“We have been finding it difficult to deal with our mounting debts, my lord,” his colleague clarified with an embarrassed smile.

“On that subject, might we raise the matter of a reward, my lord?” said Scaurus.

“The inducement shall be considerable, should the information you provide be truly valuable,” Varro advised, “and truthful. Now, tell me, how old are you?”

“Begging the questor’s pardon,” Atticus persisted, “but might we put a number to the figure of the reward.”

Varro scowled at the pair. “Very well. Between ten and twenty thousand sesterces,” he impatiently advised. “Now, kindly answer my question.”

“Twenty?” Atticus responded, raising his eyebrows as he looked at his elderly comrade. “A most attractive number.”

“Most attractive,” Scaurus agreed, having quickly calculated that this was two thousand sesterces more than the emperor’s bonus that they had taken into retirement, a bonus eaten up by the acquisition of their first business.

“My question,” Varro prompted. “An answer, if you please?”

“What question was that, my lord?” said Atticus. In his mind, he was busy spending his half of twenty-thousand sesterces.

“Your age?”

“I was born eighty-four years ago, my lord,” Atticus proudly answered, “and so was he. I am the eldest. We did tell you this once before. We could pass for sixty-four, would you not agree?”

“We think we’re still twenty-four,” Scaurus chuckled.

“You have reached a fine age,” said Varro. “Yet, you propose to provide me with information about an event which took place four decades ago, the execution of the man known as Jesus of Nazareth. Many people your age have great difficulty with their memory. Even people of my own generation sometimes have misty recollections. How can I be sure that you can remember with clarity an event which took place so long ago? You must have participated in a great many executions over the years.”

“That we did, my lord,” Scaurus agreed. “A great many.”

“But none was like the execution of the Nazarene,” said Atticus with a chuckle.

“We have encountered followers of this Jesus over the years who actually believe that he was a god and rose from the dead,” said Scaurus. Both men began to laugh.

“May I share your joke?” Varro asked.

“It is just that we know the truth,” said Scaurus.

“We were there, you see,” said Atticus. “We put the Nazarene up on his cross.”

Varro was beginning to think it was just possible that Atticus and Scaurus would provide the eye-witness evidence that he had been seeking all along. “Very well, you had better tell me what you did, what you saw, and what you heard.”

“Can first we prevail upon the questor to provide the pair of us with a guarantee of immunity?” Atticus asked.

“Against prosecution for a criminal act, forty-one years ago,” Scaurus added.

“Regrettably, my lord, we cannot say what act without incriminating ourselves,” said Atticus with a pained expression.

“You will have to take us on trust, my lord,” said Scaurus, shrugging helplessly.

Varro eyed the pair for a long moment. He had not embarked on this mission to secure prosecutions. It was information that he needed. “Very well, any complicity in a crime that may emerge from your testimony, involving either or both of you, will not be acted upon. You have my word on it. In return, you must be entirely truthful with me. Now, begin your testimony.”

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

Now that doubts about the authenticity of the witness’ testimony had been allayed, the attention of most of those present was glued to the two old men. The exception was Diocles the physician, who was nodding off to sleep.

“Three years after the 2nd Cohort of the 12th was posted to Jerusalem,” Atticus began, “Centurion Longinus selected eighty men of the cohort to escort four condemned prisoners, all Galileans, to the place of execution.”

“From those eighty, four men would physically carry out the executions,” said Scaurus. “We were two of those four executioners.”

“Longinus paid all four of us to participate in what we came to realize was the fabrication of the death of the man called Jesus of Nazareth,” said Atticus.

Varro blinked. “You did say ‘fabrication’ of the man’s death?”

“Fabrication, my lord,” Atticus confirmed. “This was the crime we spoke of. We were paid a thousand sesterces between the four of us. Two hundred and fifty each.”

“Close to three months pay,” Scaurus underscored.

“I see. How were you to undertake this fabrication?”

“The plan, as Longinus revealed to us in stages,” Atticus replied, “was to drug the prisoner, so that he would appear to die on his cross.”

“A drug?” Varro queried. The feeling in the room was electric. Here was confirmation of the testimony that had been given elsewhere, testimony that had previously been thought questionable by the questor. “What drug?”

“The prisoner was to be given a soporific preparation,” said Atticus.

“We were then to take him down from his cross, alive,” said Scaurus, “and pass his ‘body’ to his friends for disposal.”

“The execution place at Jerusalem,” Atticus continued, “was at a site just to the northwest of the city called by the Jews the Place of the Skull, or just the Skull, as we called it. There were a number of dead trees there, just trunks in the ground, and each condemned man was required to carry a cross beam from the cells of the Antonia to the Skull, and he was then put up on the cross beam on one of these trunks.”

“Is that what took place in the case of Jesus of Nazareth?” Varro asked.

“We knew him as Joshua of Nazareth,” said Scaurus. “We only heard him referred to as Jesus, the Greek form, much later.”

“Tell me the process that you went through on the morning of the execution,” said Varro. “From the Antonia to the Place of the Skull.”

“All the condemned men were beaten with rods in the Antonia, with the duty maniple drawn up to witness punishment,” said Atticus. “As we took the prisoners out that morning, with each man carrying his crossbeam, we found that Joshua, or Jesus, if you prefer, was extremely weak.”

“So much so,” said Scaurus, “he could not carry his cross-beam like the others.”

“Centurion Longinus had a Jew among the bystanders dragged into the column to carry the cross-beam of the Nazarene,” said Atticus.

“At the time,” said Scaurus, “I assumed that Centurion Longinus had already administered
the drug, or part of it, and this was why the Nazarene was so much weaker than the other prisoners. After all, they had all received exactly the same number of strokes from the rods as prescribed by law, and Jesus was a healthy fellow aged in his thirties. I could see no other explanation.”

“How did Centurion Longinus come by the drug?” Varro asked.

“Longinus told us the drug came from a Jewish apothecary,” Atticus replied.

“An apothecary by what name?”

“Matthias, I think,” said Atticus. He looked at his companion for confirmation.

“Yes, it was a Matthias,” Scaurus agreed. “His last name escapes me.”

“And me,” Atticus added.

“Could the apothecary have been a Matthias ben Naum?” Varro asked.

“Ben Naum?” Atticus looked at Scaurus. “Yes, I believe so.”

“Yes, that was the man,” Scaurus said definitely. “Matthias ben Naum.”

“Do you have any idea what became of Matthias ben Naum?”

“He died,” said Scaurus.

Varro looked at the old man intently. “When did he die?”.

“It was a year or so after the Nazarene’s execution,” Scaurus advised. He turned to his colleague. “Remember?”

“I remember,” Atticus agreed. “You were promoted to centurion and transferred to the 6th Ferrata, and I followed soon after. The apothecary was killed in a fire in the city, just prior to your leaving.”

“How can you be so sure it was Ben Naum?” Varro queried.

“We took note of all events relating to the Nazarene’s execution,” said Scaurus.

“We were nervous of apprehension, you see,” said Atticus. “You sometimes take a bribe, for this or for that, but we never engaged in something quite as dangerous as that, before or since.”

“It did not seem dangerous at the time,” Scaurus added. “You never think of being caught. Only other people are stupid enough to be caught.”

“We also had the security of knowing that our centurion was involved in the deception,” said Atticus. “We thought ourselves invulnerable.”

“That was until Centurion Longinus deserted,” said Scaurus.

“Once he was caught,” said Atticus, “we were in dread of him giving us up, but he held his tongue and went to his execution with the secret of what we had done. After that we began to worry that the story would come out, from someone else involved.”

“We were quite relieved to hear of the apothecary’s death,” Scaurus confessed. “It was one less tongue to wag.”

Varro nodded. Now he knew that Aristarchus the scribe had told the truth about Matthias ben Naum’s involvement in the execution plot. At the same time, he now also knew that Saul ben Gamaliel had lied when he had said that Ben Naum had shared his house at Macherus as recently as a month ago; Ben Naum had been dead for years. As the questor’s column had drawn closer to the Forest of Jardes, and closer to the probable revelation that Matthias ben Naum was not only not with the rebels there but had died long before, Ben Gamaliel, dreading the drawn out agony of a crucifixion that his fellow Ben Naum imposters had suffered, had decided to end his own life, quickly. That was why the apothecary from Macherus had wound his chain around his neck and thrown himself under the wheel of the cart on the Nabatea road. How Varro wished that Marcus Martius and Artimedes could have been here to hear all this. “Continue with your account,” he said, with a wave of the hand.

“Where were we?” said Atticus.

“The Nazarene was unsteady on his feet,” his colleague reminded him.

“I remember,” Atticus said with a nod. “The prisoners were led from the Antonia to the execution place. A soldier of the 12th marched in front of each condemned man bearing a sign on which his name and crime were described. The Nazarene was described as ‘Seditionist’ and ‘King of the Jews.’” He turned to Scaurus. “Whose idea was that?”

“Prefect Pilatus’ idea, I supposed,” said his colleague.

“As was the usual practice,” Atticus resumed, “each prisoner was manacled at the wrists and attached by a chain to a soldier of the escort…”

“To whom was the Nazarene chained?” Varro asked.

“It was myself,” Scaurus advised. “Jesus of Nazareth was chained to me. A mock crown made from a thorn bush arrived for him while we were still at the Antonia. We assumed that the Jewish priests wanted to humiliate him. Apparently because he had claimed to be the descendant of one of their ancient kings.”

“If I might offer an observation at this point, questor,” Antiochus interrupted, “in relation to this reference to the crown of thorns. I now have no doubt that the Nazarene quite deliberately strove to match the predictions of the Jewish prophets relating to their so-called Messiah. This crown of thorns relates to the Messianic writings ascribed to a Jewish prophet by the name of Zechariah. If you remember, the Lucius Letter and the Marcus and Matthias documents all mention that prior to entering Jerusalem for the last time the Nazarene had arranged with someone in the city for an ass and its foal to be awaiting him. Jesus then rode into Jerusalem on the ass. All this was done to conform with a prophesy of Zechariah. As was the crown of thorns.”

Varro nodded. “We can take it, then, that whoever sent the crown of thorns to the Antonia wanted the ancient predictions to be fulfilled.”

“That conclusion seems inescapable,” Antiochus agreed. “Some member of the Great Sanhedrin were undoubtedly in sympathy with him and his goal to be recognized as the Messiah predicted by the ancients. More than in sympathy; in league with him!”

“So it would appear. Continue, Atticus and Scaurus.”

“We had been told that four prisoners were to be executed that day,” said Atticus.

“This was why there were four of us,” said Scaurus. “One to each prisoner.”

“At the last moment,” said Atticus, “as we were leading the prisoners out of the Antonia, there was a holdup.”

“A servant of Prefect Pilatus arrived with a pardon for the prisoner Bar Abbas,” said Scaurus, sounding disgusted that one man had been allowed to escape justice.

“Longinus released the prisoner into the custody of the Sanhedrin,” said Atticus.

“During the delay, my man, the Nazarene, delivered a speech from the Antonia steps to the Jewish women gathered behind the escort. Longinus soon put a stop to that!”

“Now,” said Atticus, “we were down to three prisoners. Our fourth comrade was soon employed supervising the Jew who had been chosen from the crowd by Longinus to carry the Nazarene’s cross-beam. Along the street we went, to the Water Gate, with a large crowd of wailing Jewish women following along behind us.”

“The Nazarene was very weak, and staggering,” said Scaurus. “I had to literally drag him to the execution place.”

“It was the fourth hour, I think, when we reached the Skull,” said Atticus. “The remainder of the escort surrounded the execution place and we set about our duties. We knocked off the manacles of all three prisoners and stripped each man, then put up my man and the other. These
two had been members of Bar Abbas’ Daggermen band. We next turned our attention to the Nazarene, under Centurion Longinus’ watchful eye.”

“Before we put the Nazarene up,” said Scaurus, “we offered him a bowl containing wine mixed with myrrh, to help numb his pain.”

“This was not uncommon,” said Atticus. “Often, a condemned man’s family would pay for this to be done.”

“Did the Prefect of Judea know about these bribes?” Varro asked.

Atticus laughed. “The prefect received a share,” he said.

Varro raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

“It was neither here nor there,” Atticus remarked. “The prisoner still died.”

“And the payment you received to fabricate the execution? Did the prefect also receive a share of that?”

Both men vehemently shook their heads.

“Longinus made it clear that this was between him and the Jews,” said Atticus.

“Let us return to the bowl you offered the Nazarene,” said Varro. “You say that it contained wine and myrrh. How did you know that?”

“Longinus told us so,” said Scaurus.

“Longinus provided the contents of the bowl,” said Atticus. “It was always wine and myrrh, or something similar, on these occasions.”

“Therefore, it may have contained something more potent?” Varro suggested.

“Yes, but the Nazarene declined to drink from the bowl,” said Atticus. “I assumed that the prisoner wanted to keep a clear head for what lay ahead.”

“For my part,” said Scaurus, “I thought that the Nazarene declined this because he was already feeling the affect of the drug that Longinus had given him at the Antonia and expected it to soon take its full effect. After all…” He began to laugh. “He would not want to kill himself with the combined effect of the two drugs.”

“Then,” said Atticus, “we nailed him up. We nailed up Jesus of Nazareth.”

“You nailed all the prisoners to their crosses?” Varro asked.

“We tied the others up,” said Scaurus. “The Nazarene, we nailed.”

“Why was he alone nailed? Why was he the exception?”

“On some occasions prisoners were nailed, if the officer in charge wanted to inflict more pain than usual,” Atticus answered.

“We have heard,” said Scaurus, “that during the siege of Jerusalem, General Titus Vespasianus always nailed his prisoners to crosses.”

“Nails being cheaper than rope,” said Atticus with a grin to his colleague.

“We have also heard,” Scaurus went on, “that Titus sometimes nailed his prisoners two-by-two; one on either side of the cross.”

“Because he had more Jews to execute than he had crosses,” Atticus explained.

“Why would Centurion Longinus have wanted to inflict more pain on Jesus, if he was involved in a plot to save his life?” Varro queried.

“The centurion did not tell us why,” said Atticus.

“My theory,” said Scaurus, “is that Centurion Longinus thought that the intense pain would cause the prisoner to pass into unconsciousness, making it easier for the drug that he used to take effect.”

“The Nazarene seemed not to feel the pain of the nails,” said Atticus.

“Which only convinced me that the man had indeed been administered a powerful drug in the
cells of the Antonia,” Scaurus revealed.

“The centurion had told us,” said Atticus, “that the Nazarene’s family were not to receive his clothes.”

“This was a surprise,” said Scaurus. “The families of condemned men were usually permitted to claim the clothes. If the clothes were not claimed, they were sold and the proceeds distributed among the members of the execution party.”

“Centurion Longinus told us that we four could divide the Nazarene’s clothing between us by drawing lots for it,” said Atticus.

“So we drew lots,” said Scaurus.

“Another prophesy of the ancients, questor,” Antiochus spoke up. ‘“They parted my raiment among them, and for my vesture they did cast lots.’ Someone, a Jew, must have told Longinus that this had to be done to fulfil the prophesy.”

The questor nodded.

“His other clothes were worth little,” said Atticus, “but the Nazarene had been wearing a rich robe of purple, and we were all vying for that.”

“Herod Antipas, the Tetrarch of Galilee, he had given it to Jesus,” said Scaurus. “In the early hours of the morning, the prefect had sent the Nazarene to Antipas, at his palace next to the Antonia.”