The Inquest (28 page)

After a time, Miriam, on her knees still, turned and looked up at Varro with tear-stained cheeks. “Please, save him,” she implored. “You have the power.”

“He can save himself,” Varro replied, “if he will go back to Judas ben Jairus and convince him and all those with him to surrender.”

“I will not do that!” said Jacob vehemently.

“It would mean you will live, brother,” said Miriam slowly coming to her feet. “Save yourself. For me, and for our mother.”

Jacob shook his head back and forth “I cannot!”

“Why not?” She was angry now.

“Judas sent me to negotiate terms. He told me that if I came back without terms he would kill me. I may as well die here, now.”

Martius put a hand on Varro’s shoulder. “Julius, a private word.” Varro and Martius moved away. Once the pair was out of earshot of the others, Martius spoke confidentially. “Your primary concern in all this is finding the apothecary Matthias ben Naum, is it not? So, the last thing we want is Bassus’ troops killing all the Jews in the forest, because one of their victims could be our man Ben Naum. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“What if we were to send jolly Jacob there back to his unpleasant friend Judas, with the proposition that I go into the forest and negotiate terms with them, if they hand Ben Naum over to you for questioning? Then, even if the negotiations come to nothing, at least you have secured Ben Naum. If they refuse to produce Ben Naum, you can be reasonably certain that the elusive apothecary is not with them.”

Varro was shaking his head. “No, Marcus, I am not letting you venture in there alone. Besides, I doubt they would hand over one of their own. All the same, thank you for your original thought and your brave offer, my friend.” Then an original thought of his own occurred to Varro. “However, if I were to offer to go into the forest to negotiate with them, on condition that they allowed me to question Ben Naum, in there, in the forest, that might prove to be a workable proposition.”

“
I
am not letting
you
venture in there alone!” Martius countered.

Varro smiled. “Then we shall go together.”

“Done!” Martius returned, clapping his friend on the back.

They returned to the cross.

“Jacob, I will have you freed if you agree to go back and tell Ben Jairus that I will personally enter the forest and negotiate terms with him, on condition that he produces a man by the name of Matthias ben Naum, an apothecary of Jerusalem, and permits me to question him in the forest, on a matter dating back forty years.”

Jacob looked at the questor, uncertain about the trustworthiness of the offer.

“Agree!” Miriam urged her sibling. “Agree, brother, and live!”

Jacob looked away for a long moment, thinking hard, then turned back to Varro. “I am to tell
Judas that you are prepared to come into the forest to negotiate terms?”

“On condition that I can question Matthias ben Naum,” Varro reiterated.

“Question him in the forest?”

“Yes, in the forest. I will venture in there with just a handful of companions, if Judas ben Jairus is prepared to give a guarantee of safe passage both into and out of the forest. Unlike some of my colleagues, I am prepared to trust the word of Jewish people.”

Jacob looked at his sister, searching her eyes for an answer.

“Agree, Jacob” she said, softly now, pleading now. “Please agree.” Jacob dropped his eyes. “Very well,” he said, almost inaudibly.

Tribune Quintus Fabius came clambering up onto the ramparts in a rage. “Who told you to free that man?” he yelled to the soldiers of the 4th Scythica Legion around the cross.

Jacob was standing free. His clothes had been returned, and he was flexing his arms, which had been burned and bruised by the ropes that had held him on the cross.

“
I
ordered him set free,” Varro declared, pushing through the legionaries.

“I warned you, Varro!” Fabius was close to screaming. His fists were clenched. “You have no power here. You cannot countermand my direct order!”

“Shall we see General Bassus about the matter?” Varro asked.

Fabius grinned. “Yes, let us do that.”

Following Fabius, Varro and Martius climbed down from the wall. As Fabius strutted toward Bassus’
pretorium
, Varro called over Callidus and whispered in his ear. Callidus nodded, then hurried off toward the questor’s tent. Varro and Martius then continued on in Fabius’ footsteps. Bassus was resting on one elbow on a low campaign bed in his bare pavilion. As anxious servants hovered around, the general’s physician, Polycrates, a tall, elegant Greek with silver hair, stood mopping Bassus’ perspiring brow.

Tribune Fabius dropped to one knee beside the bed. “General, the questor has overreached himself,” he declared. “You must order him to obey me.”

“How are you feeling, general?” Varro asked, as he and Martius came to stand at the end of the bed.

“The pain comes and goes, Varro,” the white-faced Bassus weakly replied. “It comes and goes.” His clarity of mind seemed to have returned; for the moment at least. “What have you been doing to upset my tribune?”

“Varro countermanded my orders,” Fabius fumed.

“Is that true, Varro?”

“I am sending the Jewish envoy back into the forest with an offer to negotiate terms,” Varro informed the general.

Bassus shook his head. “No terms. Unconditional surrender, or the Jews die.”

Varro had made up his mind. “I am sorry, general, but I need all those Jews alive. One of them may be instrumental to the success of my investigation.”

“I cannot help that, Varro.” Bassus’ tone was harsher now. “I am under orders to speedily terminate the rebellion. And I have Ben Jairus’ Jews where I want them.”

“I understand your situation, general.” As Varro spoke, Callidus slipped into the tent. There was a small scroll in the freedman’s hand. “However, you must also understand my situation. I will do my best to convince the Jews to surrender themselves to you, but above all I must do
everything possible to interview the man I seek.”

“I am senior here, Varro,” Bassus growled. “I won’t have it. The Jews surrender unconditionally, or I send my troops into the forest with orders to kill all who resist.”

“Yes, you are senior to me, general,” Varro acknowledged. He held out his hand to Callidus, who lay the scroll in it. “However, with respect, as Acting Governor of Syria and Judea, General Collega is senior to you. I have here an Authority from General Collega. My tribune will read it aloud.” He passed the document to Martius.

Martius unraveled the scroll and recited the contents for all to hear. “Gnaeus Cornelius Collega, Legate of Caesar Vespasianus Augustus, to all persons in the Province of Syria and the Sub Province of Judea. It is hereby certified that Julius Terentius Varro, Questor to the Propretor of Syria and Judea, has my Authority to require and command all things in my name.’” It was short, it was to the point, and it was incontrovertible. Collega was indisputably the more senior man; his appointment as a general of
legatus
rank predated that of Bassus by four years. With the departure of Titus, and in the absence of a governor of consular rank, Collega was the most senior representative of the emperor in Syria and Judea. Martius held the Authority out to the general, so that he might authenticate the seal as that of Collega.

Bassus waved the document away, a look of resignation on his face. “Very well, do as you will, Varro,” he sighed. “Just bear in mind, my ‘friend,’ if just one Jew escapes from that damned forest as a consequence of your actions I will haul you before Caesar once we both return to Rome, and you can answer to him. That is a promise!”

It was not a promise, or a threat, that worried Varro. He did not intend to let any rebels escape.

Nightfall would claim the forest in under two hours. General Bassus’ army was still in place, still encircling the Forest of Jardes. The eleven thousand soldiers continued to stand in their places as they had since the middle of the day, enduring the heat.

“There he is!” someone on the wall called.

All heads turned toward the trees as a lone rider emerged from the forest. An hour after he had been given back his horse and sent on his way, Jacob was returning.

“That’s a relief,” commented Martius beside Varro, on the ramparts. “I was beginning to think that Judas ben Jairus had slit the young envoy’s throat.”

“On the other hand, Jacob could be returning to tell us that Judas will not parley.”

“He would not be fool enough to come back if that were their answer.”

Outside the camp gate Varro and Martius mounted up. They and ugly Decurion Pompeius and ten of his troopers filed down through the stationary ranks of the 10th Legion. They met the envoy on the gentle slope halfway between trees and Roman lines.

“Well, Jacob?” Varro asked as the Roman horsemen encircled the Jew’s horse. “What does Judas ben Jairus have to say?”

“Judas agrees to your offer,” the young Jew replied with a stone face. “He promises safe passage in and out of the forest for you and four companions.”

“What of the apothecary Matthias ben Naum?” Varro asked. “Am I to have my interview with Ben Naum?”

“You may interview Ben Naum. In the forest.”

“Then, Ben Naum is in the forest with Judas and the others?”

“Yes, he is there.”

Varro was elated by the news, but he tried not to show it. “Very well. Four companions and myself.”

“At dawn tomorrow.”

Varro did not like the sound of that. The rebels might attempt to break out in the night. “There is time enough for a meeting before sunset,” he responded.

Jacob shook his head. “Tomorrow, at dawn, or not at all.” He went to turn away.

“Very well,” Varro called. “Tomorrow at dawn.”

“I will meet you here as the sun rises,” Jacob advised. With that, he pushed his way out of the circle of horsemen.

“Bassus will not be pleased with the delay,” said Martius as the Romans turned back toward their camp.

“Neither am I,” Varro returned. “It will be a long night.”

Returning to the camp, Varro and his deputy dismounted. They went directly to General Bassus’
pretorium
. Fabius was there, looking like a child who had lost his favorite toy. Bassus was lying flat. He did not even turn his head as the two officers entered his tent. “Well, questor, to what have you committed us?” Bassus asked.

“My party will go into the forest at dawn tomorrow, General,” Varro answered.

“No, no, no!” Bassus painfully rocked his head back and forth. “The Jews are up to their old tricks, Varro. They will attempt to escape once darkness arrives.”

“To prevent that you will have rotate all your troops in three watches through the night, distributed evenly around the forest with burning torches.”

The questor’s plan for the night watches was subsequently adopted. Varro returned to his quarters, and he and his senior men dined apart from Bassus and his officers; the general no longer wished to mix with the questor or his subordinates. As Varro had anticipated, by exercising his Authority he had alienated himself from Bassus. He had done what he had to do, and could live with the consequences. Having traveled light, Varro and his colleagues dined on benches made from strips of turf laid one on another, around a table of similar construction. It was an uncomfortable experience, sitting to eat, as slaves did, rather than reclining. At least questor’s silver plate had found a place on several pack mules and could be used to add a touch of civility to the meal.

As Hostilis and the other personal servants moved in and out of the questor’s tent, serving the food being prepared outside by the cooks, Varro ran his eyes around his dinner companions, who sat elbow to elbow, four to a bench around the earthen table. Martius, in good spirits, talking convivially with the poetic Crispus, reviewing the days events. Venerius, in discussion with Alienus the guide and Pompeius the cavalry decurion about the superiority of Roman horsemanship. Gallo, a solitary figure, only speaking when spoken to. Pedius, discussing remedies for footsoreness with Diocles. Pythagoras, aloof, distant. Artimedes, embroiled with Callidus in a conversation about horoscopes. Antiochus, sitting at the end of the ‘U,’ shunned by all present.

“A word with you all,” Varro called. “A word!”

The conversations ebbed away, and all heads turned toward the questor.

“In the morning, at sunrise, I shall enter the forest to meet with the rebels and to interview the apothecary Matthias ben Naum,” Varro began. There was sudden tension in the
pretorium
. All present knew that the Jews could be laying a trap for their questor. “As you will have heard, the rebels have agreed to provide safe passage for myself and four companions. I have decided who
those companions will be.”

“As your lictor, my lord,” Pedius spoke up, “I will of course accompany you.

“Take me, my lord,” said Crispus.

“No, take me, questor,” the one-eyed Pompeius chimed in, his voice as deep as a grave. “We need someone to give the Jews a fright, not a poem.” This brought a laugh from several of the diners and a characteristic cackle from Venerius.

Varro dispensed the aggressive decurion a reproving frown, before continuing. “I shall take two military officers,” he announced. As he said it, he noticed Venerius shrinking back, as if to exclude himself from selection. “Tribune Martius…”

“I plan to make a study of the flora and fauna of the forest while we are there,” Martius joked, raising smiles around the table.

“The other…” Varro’s eyes came to rest on Decurion Alienus, the Egyptian provided to him by his cousin, “shall be you, Alienus. You are familiar with this part of the world, and you understand a little Aramaic.” Varro had also chosen him because he looked as if he could take care of himself in tight situation, and for one other reason—Alienus was not a member of the little ‘family’ that Varro had brought down from Antioch. If any of his companions on this risky venture in the forest were to meet an unpleasant end, Varro preferred it to be an outsider.

Alienus nodded. “Very good, my lord. We will be going in armed, I take it?”