The Inquest Read Free Page B

ASSIGNMENT
    Antioch, Capital of the Roman Province or Syria.
February, A.D. 71
    As the offensive aroma of a rotting animal lying unseen in floor or ceiling soaks all it reaches, a month after the event the acrid stench of fire still clung to the stones and timbers of the city as Julius Varro was carried in a closed litter through the streets. The Fire of Antioch had razed one fifth of the metropolis, destroying the massive Foursquare Market, its place of origin, gutting the city library and archives, and demolishing all the grand old Seleucid palaces, including the palace used by the Governor of Syria as his official residence. Forced to find a new, temporary residence, General Collega was renting the city home of one of the richest men in Antioch, a merchant and owner of a shipping fleet.
    “Make way for the questor!” called Pedius, Varro’s gray-haired lictor, his official attendant, who preceded the brawny litter-bearers toting his employer’s staff of office. “Make way for the questor!”
    As he did every day at dawn, on this morning after the meeting with Flavius Josephus, Julius Varro arrived at the Acting Governor’s residence as the sun was rising over Parthia to the east. An ante-room was filled with fifty or sixty of Antioch’s leading citizens, all come to pay their respects to the governor, some deep in conversation, others looking detached and preoccupied. Despite the waiting crowd, Pythagoras the secretary ushered Varro directly in to see Collega, in a small reception room overlooking one of the mansion’s many gardens. The governor was not alone. As Collega lounged on one of three couches, munching grapes, a man Varro immediately recognized sat across from him. Curly-headed and swarthy, Antiochus, chief Jewish magistrate of Antioch, was narrow-shouldered and of medium height. A man with a sagging paunch and a double chin, Antiochus had been handsome in his youth. Now, in his middle years, lack of restraint and lack of exercise were changing his physiology with the addition of surplus pounds. His brow glistened, for Antiochus was burdened with a nervous complaint which saw him perspire mildly at any time and profusely when he was anxious. Antiochus smiled weakly at the questor as Varro bade his chief and his guest good morning.
    “Varro, my dear fellow,” said Collega cheerily, pointing his questor to the third couch, before spitting a pip into a bowl on the table in front of him. “I invited Antiochus here to tell me a little about the Nazarenes.”
    “The Nazarenes, my lord?” said Varro as he reclined. “For what purpose?”
    “As much as I hate to admit it, Flavius Josephus was right,” said Collega. “I have therefore decided to proceed with that matter we discussed last evening, Varro. The mission to Judea.”
    “You have?” Varro was surprised. When he had left the governor the night before he had felt that Collega’s reservations had meant he would ignore Josephus’ suggestion. “May I inquire why, my lord?”
    “Expediency, Varro,” said Collega with a wink at his deputy. “Last evening after your departure I discussed the matter with the ever wise Pythagoras. He feels that no harm can be done, while no end of good may come of it. It could make both our careers.”
    Varro frowned. “ Both our careers, general?”
    “You will conduct the inquiry into the death of the Jewish miracle worker.”
    “Me, my lord?” Varro protested. He could think of nothing worse than spending months inJudea. For one thing, the rebel Jews down there had yet to be completely subdued; the Roman army were still mopping up resistance. All Varro wanted was to serve out his time in Syria as quickly and as peaceably as possible, then go home.
    Collega detected the note of dismay in his questor’s voice, and scowled at him. “You are my investigating magistrate. You will lead the investigation, an inquest into the circumstances surrounding the death of the Nazarene.”
    “But, my lord…”
    “Come,