The Inquest (36 page)

“It was said that Antipas was afraid of the Nazarene,” said Atticus, “that he was convinced the Nazarene was Johannes the Baptist reborn. He sent him back to the Antonia wearing this robe, as if he was hailing him as some sort of royalty.”

“We took the robe from him at the Antonia,” said Scaurus, “before he was led out to the execution place.”

“Neither of us won it,” Atticus lamented. “One of our two comrades did.”

“We were never lucky like that,” his colleague said, shaking his head.

“What took place once the Nazarene was up on his cross?” Varro asked.

“Once we had him up,” said Atticus, “we had expected the Nazarene to soon lose consciousness. He must have been up there three or four hours, and then he called out.”

“The centurion was prepared for this eventuality,” said Scaurus. “He had told us to expect him to perhaps call out, if the drug did not succeed in rendering him unconscious. When we heard the signal, we were to immediately alert the centurion.”

“What was the signal?” the questor asked.

“He was to call out, ‘I thirst,’” said Atticus. “We were to then offer him a drink.”

“I ran to the centurion,” said Scaurus. “He had a bowl of liquid prepared.”

“What was in this bowl?”

“It looked and smelled for all the world to be vinegar,” said Scaurus, “and this is what Longinus instructed us to say it was.”

“Vinegar being a familiar medicine,” said Atticus, “one which would not arouse suspicions yet with its bitter taste could disguise a second ingredient.”

“We understood it to conceal another dose of the centurion’s soporific drug,” said Scaurus. “I soaked a sponge with it, put the sponge on a reed, and held the reed up to the Nazarene. He drank his fill then called out, It is over,’ and lapsed into unconsciousness.”

“Finally,” Atticus added.

“Another three hours passed,” said Scaurus. “Centurion Longinus had told us that the drug could be expected to lose its potency within six or eight hours of its taking effect, after which time the prisoner would regain consciousness.”

“We had to bring him down within the next few hours,” Atticus added.

“Centurion Longinus instructed me,” said Scaurus, “to take a javelin from a member of the escort and jab the Nazarene in the side.”

“The centurion had discussed this with us previously,” said Atticus. “The intent was to show onlookers—the Great Sanhedrin had people watching us all this time—to prove to them that the Nazarene was ‘dead.’ If we could put a javelin in him and he did not flinch, then it would appear that he was dead.”

“The trick was not to cause the Nazarene a grievous injury,” said Scaurus.

“Nor to kill him,” said Atticus with a smile.

“So I pushed the tip of the javelin up into his side, causing a flesh wound,” said Scaurus. He illustrated how he had done this, by putting his right arm vertically above his head and pushing up with an imaginary spear.

“Thankfully, the Nazarene did not flinch,” said Atticus. “He was well and truly in the grip of the drug.”

“I saw blood run from the wound that I had caused,” said Scaurus. “It was only a flesh wound; I had been careful to ensure that. Still, blood flowed and ran down his leg.”

“The centurion was close by, on his horse,” said Atticus. “He saw the result of the wound, and he turned to the crowd and called out, ‘Water and blood. He is dead. Yet, truly he died with courage.’”

Varro looked perplexed. “Water and blood? Is that what he said?”

Atticus nodded. “Water and blood.”

“Did you see water and blood?”

“Blood only,” said Scaurus.

“Blood only,” Atticus affirmed.

“How odd,” Varro commented. “Continue.”

“One of the priests of the Sanhedrin then hurried back toward the city,” said Scaurus, “toward the Water Gate and the Palace of Herod.”

“This priest,” said Atticus, “as we knew from Centurion Longinus, was called Josephus of Arimathea. He was a Pharisee, and a friend of the Nazarene. He was the one who had secretly arranged everything with the centurion.”

“Longinus told you this Pharisee’s name?” Varro queried. “Why?”

“The centurion was no man’s fool,” said Atticus. “He did not entirely trust these Jews. A man could not afford to, as we Romans found during the Jewish Revolt. Centurion Longinus would have been well paid for his leading part in all this…”

“Do you know precisely how much Longinus was paid?”

Atticus shook his head. “He did not tell us. Thousands and thousands, I expect. He did tell us he wanted to be sure that nothing unexpected happened to him, either an accident or an arrest through a false accusation from the Jews. He was taking precautions against a calamitous event designed to remove the plot’s chief actor from the stage.”

“He wanted the Jews behind all this to know that those of us who carried out the crucifixion knew who they were,” said Scaurus. “They could not conceivably do away with us all, so there would always be one of us to point the finger at them and wreak revenge if anything were to happen to any of us.”

“For this reason,” said Atticus, “the centurion told us the name of the leading players on the Jewish side—Josephus, Matthias the apothecary, and Nicodemus.”

“Nicodemus?” Varro queried. “Who was Nicodemus?”

“Another Pharisee,” Scaurus advised.

“We will come to him in the course of the story, my lord,” said Atticus. “Shall I continue with the account from the point of the departure of Josephus of Arimathea?”

“Please do.”

“We knew that Josephus of Arimathea had gone to see Prefect Pilatus, and before long an auxiliary of the prefect’s bodyguard came to fetch Centurion Longinus.”

“We had been expecting this,” Scaurus chimed in.

“Centurion Longinus hurried off to the palace,” said Atticus. “Before long he returned, and ordered the legs of the other two prisoners broken, to hasten their deaths.”

“These two were still alive, of course,” said Scaurus.

“Using a cudgel, another member of our quartet broke their leg bones,” said Atticus. “Crack! Crack! It is easy done, with just a heavy blow.”

“While this pair was meeting their end, the centurion ordered us to take down the Nazarene,” said Scaurus, “and to hand the ‘body’ over to a waiting Jewish funeral party. It was obvious to us that he was still alive, of course.”

“How could you be sure that Jesus was still alive when you took him down from the cross?” Varro asked. “Be precise with your answer.”

“He was still warm, for one thing,” said Atticus.

“The blood from the wound I had put in his side, that was another sure sign,” said Scaurus. “Dead men do not bleed. I have seen enough men the over the years to know.”

“Perhaps we should take expert medical advice at this point,” said Varro, turning to Diocles the physician. Diocles was fast asleep, slumped against Antiochus. “Wake the physician,” Varro commanded crossly.

As Antiochus shook the flabby doctor, Hostilis took him a cup of water. Diocles was awoken with difficulty, and when he did wake it was in a daze. “What is it?” he called, sitting up and looking around with a perplexed expression. “What is wrong?”

“Drink the water that Hostilis has for you,” said the scowling questor.

Diocles gulped down the water then thrust the cup back at Hostilis, who returned to his post behind the questor. Wiping his mouth on the back of his arm, the physician realized that all eyes were on him. “I was drowsy,” he said, with an embarrassed smile.

“Have you taken in any of the testimony of these two witnesses?” Varro asked.

“Two witnesses?” Diocles looked to the two old men on the bench. “Ah, yes, the two veterans. I perhaps missed a little of what they had to say, questor. Only a little.”

Varro guessed that most of what Atticus and Scaurus had to say had eluded the doctor. “Your expert opinion, physician, if you please,” he said. “Do dead men bleed?”

“Do dead men bleed?” Diocles laughed. “I think not,” he said disparagingly. “A dead man’s heart no longer pumps blood through the body.”

“If a crucified man who has been declared dead receives a wound in the side, and someone claims that he has seen blood and water flow from the wound…?”

“Not possible, questor,” said Diocles. “You can have watery blood, and you can have bloody water, but not blood and water both. If the man is dead, neither is likely.”

“Why then, would the centurion claim to have seen blood and water flow?”

“It is a mystery to me, questor. Unless he were trying to give the impression that a deep wound had been inflicted, that the bladder had been pierced, perhaps. But a jab in the side will not puncture the bladder. I cannot imagine what his purpose was.”

“I see.”

“You say that our man was crucified, questor?” Diocles inquired. “In the normal standing position was it? And he received a flesh wound to the side, you say?”

“That is so.”

“Mmmm.” Diocles pensively rubbed his chin. “You see, questor, the blood of a man who dies in the standing position will ordinarily settle in his organs and his legs. As I have said, once the heart stops pumping, blood cannot continue to flow through the body, and certainly will not leak from a wound in the side. Only a living, breathing being can bleed from a wound of that nature.”

“I knew it!” Antiochus exclaimed triumphantly beside him, slapping his knee. “All this nonsense about rising from the dead! The Nazarene was not dead!”

“Thank you, physician,” said Varro. “The evidence points to the likelihood that whatever drug was administered, it had the effect of making the Nazarene wholly insensible, so that there was every appearance of death.” He looked at the two old soldiers. “You are definitely unable to identify the soporific drug used by Longinus?”

“One of our comrades did make mention of gall,” said Scaurus, “but that was mere speculation, I think; soldier’s gossip. You hear of all manner of preparations and their various effects, but we have no knowledge in that field.”

“The Matthias document states that gall was used,” Antiochus piped up. “And at the risk of being repetitious, questor, I would note that the ancient Messianic prophesies also stated, A bone of him shall not be broken,’ and, ‘They shall look on him whom they pierced.’ Longinus had obviously been told by the plotters to ensure the Nazarene’s leg were not broken and that his skin must be pierced in some way.”

Varro nodded. “Apparently so.” He turned back to the physician. “Can you speculate on what drug was employed, Diocles? A drug capable of rendering a recipient unconscious for up to eight hours, and which equally renders him insensitive to pain?”

Diocles screwed up his face. “If you were to ask me for a sleeping draught, that is one thing, but if you were to ask me to render you unconscious for eight hours, and to render you insensitive to pain at the same time…?” He shook his head. “You see, this sounds to me as if two different preparations have been utilized. One for the deep sleep, perhaps also slowing the heart rate. Another for the desensitizing effect. There are various plants which produce one or other effect; deep sleep on the one hand, a paralysis on the other. But none that will do both at the same time that I am aware of. No, no, I would not hazard a guess. This is more in an apothecary’s realm.”

“Two drugs?” said Varro pensively. “Administered separately?”

“One would have thought so,” Diocles agreed.

“One administered prior to leaving the Antonia,” Antiochus suggested, “the other administered on the cross. It is in the realms of possibility, questor.”

Varro turned back to the two witnesses. “Resume your account. You had brought the Nazarene down from the cross…”

“That we had, my lord,” said Atticus. “We then handed the Nazarene over to the Jewish burial party, which wrapped him in linen and took him to his tomb.”

“Who had charge of the burial party,” Varro queried. “Josephus of Arimathea?”

“The burial party was led by another priest of the Great Sanhedrin,” said Atticus. “Another Pharisee, Nicodemus by name. This was the same Nicodemus that we made mention of earlier, my lord.”

“Centurion Longinus told us that this Nicodemus was a practiced embalmer,” said Scaurus,
“and that he was a secret admirer of the Nazarene who had enjoyed clandestine meetings with him, without the knowledge of the chief priests of the Sanhedrin.”

“How did Longinus know this, about these clandestine meetings?”

“Nicodemus or Josephus of Arimathea must have told him so,” Atticus surmised.

“Longinus also told us of the plan to secrete the Nazarene away,” said Scaurus. “This was after we had expressed concern that Jesus would later be seen and recognized.”

“In which case we would have been in deep trouble,” said Atticus. “This is a man we had supposedly put to death. Suspicion would have immediately fallen on us.”

“Our centurion told us that once we handed over the ‘body,’” said Scaurus, “Jesus would be wrapped in a linen shroud and taken to a tomb in the hillside close by.”

“This tomb was actually owned by Josephus of Arimathea,” said Atticus.

“It was his own tomb,” said Scaurus, “not previously used.”

“Centurion Longinus told us that Nicodemus would prepare one hundred pound weight of myrrh and aloes, which he would take to the tomb to dress the ‘body.’”

“A hundred pound weight?” said Varro. “That seems an excessive amount.”

“They needed an excuse to take several pack mules to the tomb,” said Atticus.

“Sturdy mules carrying deep panniers,” Scaurus added, “containing the jars.”

“The jars of myrrh and aloes were unloaded and taken into the tomb,” said Atticus, “leaving the panniers empty.”

“Once they had the ‘body of the Nazarene in the tomb,” said Scaurus, “they would administer a draught if necessary to revive him and would dress and bind his wounds. Then, Nicodemus or his assistants would shave Jesus of his philosopher’s beard and shorten his hair, to give him a more Roman look.”

“This was to make him less easy to recognize,” said Atticus.

“They would then dress him in clothes brought in the panniers,” said Scaurus.

“Nicodemus would then conceal the Nazarene in an emptied pannier,” said Atticus, “and secrete him away when the embalmer and his assistants departed.”