The Inquest (17 page)

“I know it to be true, in my heart. If you could see into my heart, my lord questor, you would have your undeniable proof.”

“We should take the old scoundrel up on his invitation,” Martius muttered to Venerius at his table. “Have Diocles the physician open him up with a knife, and then we shall take a look at his heart.”

Venerius let out one of his high-pitched cackles.

The questioning of Philippus continued throughout the day, with the questor crossing and re-crossing the ground already covered, looking for anything that may have been missed, until, in the eleventh hour, with the sun dipping low in the western sky and with nothing new having emerged, he called a halt to proceedings.

“Philippus, you have answered all questions put to you since the third hour this morning,” he said. “In return for your cooperation, I shall instruct Centurion Gallo to release your servants, as I promised I would.”

“Thank you, my lord Varro,” Philippus acknowledged, his faced drained white by the day’s mental gymnastics.

“Yet,” Varro went on, “so many questions remain unasked, so many answers remain to be found. I may have further need of your truthfulness, Evangelist. For the time being then, I will ask you to remain as my guest. You will not be mistreated, and you will be permitted unrestricted access to visitors. That is all for the moment.” The questor rose up, departed his chair, and strode from the chamber, with Hostilis close behind.

Before long, Martius and Venerius came to the questor in his quarters, each with differing purposes. Venerius sought the expedition’s watchword for the next twenty-four hours. Varro gave him a quotation taken from the poet Vergilius—“The age of godhead hale and green’—then sent the junior tribune on his way.

Martius lingered behind. “May I speak, Julius?” he said, as the questor sprawled wearily on a divan.

“Proceed, my friend,” Varro replied, accepting a cup of water from Hostilis.

“That old scoundrel Philippus has been playing us like a flute. He knows much more than he has let on.”

“Possibly so.”

“Put him to the torture, Julius. Drag the truth out of him.”

Varro looked at his deputy for a moment, then said, “Let me ask you something, Marcus. Is Philippus to your mind a clever man?”

“Very clever.”

“Is he determined?”

“Very determined.”

“Is he passionate about what he believes in?”

“Frighteningly so. Though, how any man could believe such babble…”

“Have you ever seen a clever, determined, passionate man tortured? I have. A man like that will willingly die with his secrets rather than reveal them to a torturer. Such a man actually seem to gain a perverse pleasure from denying his tormentor the one thing he seeks. It is their last victory.”

“Then, where does that leave us?”

“We are left with Philippus in our custody. He appears to believe that the Nazarene rose from the dead, but his belief is based on hearsay. Philippus may yet prove a key to unlocking the truth, but what we need is a witness who was actually involved in the execution of the Nazarene, or in any plot relating to it.”

“If not through the cunning Evangelist, how do we find such a person?”

Varro smiled. “We must keep asking questions, my friend. Questions always father answers. We keep asking questions until we find the answers we seek.”

Caesarea, Capital of the Roman Province of Judea.
April, A.D. 71

In the white palace overlooking the sea, Varro’s seven chief subordinates gathered at his quarters. Sitting on divans forming a square in the spacious sea-view room, they had come for the reading of important new documents. Pythagoras and Artimedes had made a fresh discovery in the city archives, a horde of secret reports addressed to Prefect of Judea Pontius Pilatus. Neatly written in Latin, they provided information about Johannes the Baptist and Jesus of Nazareth and their leading followers, and warned the prefect that these people posed a threat to the peace and stability of the province. Many of the reports had been sent to Pilatus by Ananus ben Seth, one-time High Priest of the Temple of Jerusalem and head of the Great Sanhedrin. Others had originated with Josephus Caiaphas, son-in-law of and successor to Ananus as High Priest, and the man who had held the supreme post at the time of the arrest, trial and execution of Jesus of Nazareth.

Pythagoras pointed out to the questor that Ananus was apparently a very influential figure at the time. According to the records, even after Ananus had stepped down as High Priest not only did his son-in-law subsequently fill the post of High Priest, but four of Ananus’ own sons had also been High Priest at various times, making it likely that Ananus ruled the Sanhedrin from behind the scenes for a number of years. Among these secret reports the secretaries found a letter from Ananus to Pontius Pilatus congratulating the prefect on consigning Jesus of Nazareth to his death. In this letter, Ananus had assured Pilatus that even though Jesus had been brought by the Captain of the Temple Guard to Ananus’ house for questioning following his arrest, Ananus had not been aware that the Nazarene had been arrested in possession of weapons, and that was why he had sent Jesus on to High Priest Caiaphas to be tried for blasphemy. Had he been aware at that time that Jesus had been bearing arms, Ananus wrote, he would have had no hesitation in sending him directly to the prefect to be tried under Roman law.

There were so many of these secret reports that Pythagoras and Artimedes had spent days sorting them into rough chronological order and then sifting the occasional reliable piece of intelligence from a sea of hysterical priestly accusation and defamation. As a result, the secretaries were able to present the questor with some gems of information. Among the most important of the documents was a report from Ananus which gave a motive for Jesus of Nazareth’s ‘rebellious activities’ and another from the same source which listed Jesus’ ‘chief accomplices.’

Describing the Nazarene as a man who had undergone considerable religious instruction, the first of these two reports said that Jesus was bitter because he had been denied entry into the Jewish priesthood. Ananus wrote that, unlike his distant cousin Johannes the Baptist, who was the son of Zecharias, a priest of the order of Abijah, Jesus was not a direct descendant of Aaron, brother of Moses and founder of the Jewish priesthood. Under Jewish Law, only Aaron’s descendants—Levites, they were called—could become priests. Ananus told Pilatus that Jesus had decided to overthrow the Great Sanhedrin and proclaim that any Jew could become a priest, and then appoint himself High Priest, although Ananus provided no proof of this assertion.

According to the former High priest, after taking over the remnants of the Baptist’s band, Jesus had found his support with the people waning because he lacked Johannes’ priestly
credentials. At the height of Johannes’ popularity, said Ananus, the Baptist had attracted a following of thirty thousand men, but of these only some three thousand had attached themselves to his cousin Jesus. As a consequence, Ananus warned the Roman prefect, Jesus was likely to commit a desperate act in order to assert his claim to the leadership of the Jewish people. The most likely time for that act, Ananus wrote, would be during the Passover Festival at Jerusalem, when the city was crowded with pilgrims, a number of them potential recruits for the Nazarene.

Ananus wrote that the Nazarene was known to use secret sympathizers to pass messages and to make preparations in advance of his visits to various towns and villages. Among those preparations, said Ananus, was the recruitment and payment of people including Jesus’ own relatives to pretend to be afflicted with various illnesses which he would then proceed to ‘miraculously’ cure. Jesus was known by a number of different names said Ananus. Apart from his Aramaic birth name, that of Yehoshua, or Joshua in Latin, he was known as both Joshua bar Josephus, or Joshua the son of Joseph, and Joshua bar Davidus, Joshua the son of David. The latter designation was designed to imply that he was descended from David, ancient and revered king of the Israelites.

Pythagoras next read aloud the list of the Nazarene’s twelve chief associates provided by Ananus to Pilatus. ‘“The Nazarene has an inner circle of three. The first of these is Simon bar Jonas, also known as Simon of Galilee, also known as Simon Petra, also known as Petra, also known, to Greek speakers, as Cephas. Simon is a native of Capernaum, where he and his younger brother, also one of the Nazarene’s followers, are involved in their father Jonas’ fishing partnership. Simon is married, with young children, and his family has large houses at both Capernaum and Jerusalem which the Nazarene regularly uses. The other two members of the inner circle are the brothers Jacob bar Zebedee and Johannes bar Zeberdee. They are also known as ‘Sons of Thunder.’”

“Sons of thunder?” Martius interrupted. “All these alternative names, questor! As you would expect of revolutionaries. They probably also wrote their messages in cipher.” He looked over at Pythagoras. “You would know all about ciphers, secretary.”

“Indeed, tribune,” Pythagoras replied without inflection. He was in fact expert at using transposition codes of the kind first employed by Julius Caesar one hundred and thirty years before, where one letter of the alphabet was substituted for another. He was using just such a code in the written dispatches he was sending back to General Collega.

“Continue reading the list, Pythagoras,” Varro instructed.

Pythagoras resumed. “The brothers are also fishermen of Capernaum, and are involved in their father Zebedee’s fishing partnership with Simon’s family. Both have apparently been the close friends of Simon and his brother Andreius for some years. Johannes and Andreius are former close associates of Johannes called the Baptist, the relative of Jesus, and it is believed that it is this connection which brought Johannes bar Zebedee into Jesus’ trust.’”

Martius interjected again. “This information implies detailed knowledge from someone close to the Nazarene. The High Priest had an informant in the fellow’s ranks.”

“Obviously, it was Judas the betrayer,” said Antiochus.

“Quite possibly,” Varro conceded. “Yet, despite the fact that Philippus the Evangelist brands Judas a betrayer, and despite the Lucius Letter’s endorsement of the same sentiment…”

“As do the Marcus and Matthias documents, my lord,” said Artimedes.

“Yes,” Varro acknowledged. “Still, I have my doubts about Judas’ real role in this affair. The testament of Matthias states that Judas was paid thirty pieces of silver to betray the Nazarene. That is barely two days’ wages for a common laborer.”

“The thirty pieces of silver is an amount mentioned in one of the ancient Jewish prophesies, questor,” said Antiochus. “That of the prophet Jeremiah. In the context of the Matthias document, I think that thirty pieces of silver is a symbolic amount, inserted by Matthias to imply that the predictions regarding the Messiah were fulfilled.”

“You are saying that in reality Judas was paid more?” Varro asked.

“There can be no doubt that Matthias lied, questor,” Antiochus replied. “Of the three authors, Matthias was demonstrably the most prone to invention and exaggeration throughout his text. He wrote that all the bodies in the tombs outside Jerusalem rose up and invaded Jerusalem following the Nazarene’s death. This ridiculous nonsense was his way of making his testament superior to that of Marcus.”

“If not thirty pieces of silver?” Varro prompted. “How much was Judas paid?”

“Both Philippus and the testament of Matthias make mention of a potters field being purchased with the money, my lord,” said Antiochus. “If that were true, the actual amount had to be considerably more than thirty pieces of silver.”

“Here I have to agree with the Jew,” said Martius, begrudgingly.

“As do I, my lord,” said Callidus, a man who knew the value of a sestertius. “No potter sells his field so cheaply.”

“Certainly not a Hebrew potter,” added Venerius with a guffaw.

“Irrespective of the amount received by Judas from the priests,” said Varro, “everything points to Jesus having prearranged his arrest with Judas. It is clear from the Lucius Letter that when Jesus sent Judas to ‘do what he had to do’ they were still dining at a house in Jerusalem; possibly Simon Petra’s house. Jesus must have told Judas that following the meal he would go to the grove on the Mount of Olives outside the city. How else could Judas have known where to lead the Temple Guard to make the arrest? Was Judas in league with Jesus, and hoodwinked Ananus and Caiaphas by pretending to betray his leader?”

“According to the letter and the two other testaments, questor,” said Pythagoras, “none of the apostles knew of the existence of any such arrangement between Jesus and Judas. It had to be a secret shared only by the two of them.”

“That being the case,” said Martius, “to ensure that the priests never realized they had been tricked into arresting Jesus, Judas had to keep up the pretense, long after the execution. Permanently, in fact. If the collusion had become known, doubts would have been cast on the whole process. Not an easy thing to do, maintaining the pretense when both sides consider you a traitor. A man’s life would be a misery. Such an act of self-sacrifice would have required a good deal of courage.”

“Or stupidity,” said Callidus.

“Or loyalty,” said Crispus, chiming in for the first time.

“Had I been this Judas,” said Venerius, “I would have run away and become an outlaw. I would have joined a rebel band in the desert.”

“Provided they would have had you,” Martius commented dryly.

“Philippus, in his testimony,” said Pythagoras, “suggested that Judas died shortly after the crucifixion, and by his own hand.”

“Perhaps that was a story,” Crispus suggested, “circulated to protect Judas and allow him to start a new life in some far distant place.”

Varro smiled to himself; at least Crispus had taken in some of this business, despite his predilection for poetic diversions. “Perhaps so,” he mused.

“A story circulated by whom?” Martius asked. “If eleven of the apostles were not a party to
the deception, as it appears, surely not a story circulated by them?”

“Someone outside the apostles, then?” said Crispus, thinking aloud.

“Who?” said Martius. “One of the seventy disciples?”

“The priests?” Varro postulated. “As part of the arrangement with Judas? To protect him and allow him to start life afresh somewhere.”

“The priests?” Martius mused. “I suppose it is possible.”

They all looked at each other, mystified.

“It is worth thinking on,” said Varro. “Continue reading the list of accomplices.”

Pythagoras began again. ‘“The Galileans Philippus of Bethsaida…”

“Not our Philippus the Evangelist,” Martius reminded the others.

“’…and his friend Andreius bar Jonas, brother of Simon Petra, both former deputies of Johannes the Baptist. Nathaniel bar Tolmai, also known as Nathaniel of Cana, a native of Cana in Galilee. Thomas, also called Didymus, who has a twin brother whom is also a follower. Levi bar Alpheus, also known as Matthias, for many years a customs duty collector in the service of Herod Antipas, Tetrarch of Galilee, based at Capernaum until he left his post to join the Nazarene’s band. Jacob bar Alpheus, the brother of Levi cum Matthias. Thaddeus bar Jacob, also known as Jude, also known as Lebbeus, son of the preceding and believed to be a former member of the
sicarii
, the Daggermen revolutionary band also called the Zealots. Simon of Cana, also called Simon the Zealot, Simon the Sicarius, and Simon Sicarius, also a suspected former member of the Daggermen. The treasurer of the group is Judas bar Simon, son of the preceding, also called Judas Sicarius…’ Here we have the betrayer ‘…believed to have at one time been a member of the Daggermen, and, like his father, also from Cana in Galilee,’”

“Do you know, three things stand out from that list,” said Martius.

“They all seem to have come from Galilee,” said Venerius.

“Yes, that is one thing,” Martius acknowledged. “More importantly, the band includes several former members of the Daggermen, sworn enemies of Rome, and several former followers of Johannes the Baptist. Could it be that the Baptist was in league with the Daggermen? Could it be that under the guise of spiritualism he was secretly spying for the Daggermen and raising recruits for a revolt against Rome?”

“The Nazarene merely took up the revolutionary activities where the Baptist left off?” Crispus added.

“Possibly so,” said Varro, sounding unconvinced.

“There is more here relating to the apostles, questor,” said Pythagoras. “From a secret report by the High Priest Josephus Caiaphas.” He turned to another document on his table and read aloud. “‘Under the Nazarene’s leadership these men all follow the beliefs of the Pharisees, that division of religious philosophy which believes in a strict observance of Jewish law but which also concedes in favor of resurrection. The Nazarene has been known to commune with and to eat with leading Pharisees in the past, but of late he has fallen out with many of these men on matters of religious philosophy and more particularly in relation to observance of the Law. As an example of the irreligious nature of these people, unlike the Pharisees, the Nazarene and his followers fail to observe all the fasts required by the Law.’” Pythagoras looked up from the document. “The Letter and the testaments all indicate that the Pharisees, or some of them at least, became bitterly opposed to the Nazarene,” he summarized.

Varro nodded. “The Pharisees believed in resurrection,” he reflected, “yet in the end they fell out with the Nazarene. I wonder why? Surely not merely because the Nazarene’s followers did not always observe the required fasts?”