“Came a night, the night before the Passover, when the Captain of the Temple Guard was sent by Caiaphas to arrest a man who had been preaching blasphemy in the Temple, a man who had disrupted the business of the merchants who sold the sacrificial birds and animals to the pilgrims. That man was Jesus of Nazareth. Caiaphas sent his scribe Malchus with the captain and his officers and the soldiers of the Guard. Malchus was my cousin; I assisted him in his duties. I too was in the party which went to the Mount of Olives to make the arrest.”
“You were sent there with your cousin?”
Ishmael shook his head. “It was my choice to go. I admit, I was curious. I had heard about this man, the Nazarene. On the one hand I had heard that he had performed miracles, on the other, I had heard the High Priest and others among the priests say that he was nothing more than a clever magician and a deceiver. I suppose I had hopes of seeing him perform some miraculous act to escape his arrest. Either that, or I was ready to laugh when I saw him struggling to be free, unmasked and powerless.”
Martius was wishing that Pythagoras or Artimedes were here, taking notes. His head had cleared, but he worried that his wine consumption might affect his power of recollection once he left the informant. For a moment he thought about dragging the old man to the fortress to testify in front of the questor, but old Ishmael looked as if he might die at any moment, so Martius decided to extract all he could from him now while he had the opportunity. “What happened on the Mount of Olives that night?” he asked.
“There were a great many of us. The captain and his officers were armed with swords, as Roman law allowed, and the men of the Guard carried their staves. We were led to a place on the mountain by an informant, a Galilean.”
“A Galilean by what name?”
“Judas. His name was Judas. It was told to me by one of the soldiers that this Judas was secretly in the employ of Ananus, father-in-law of High Priest Caiaphas, but I had never seen this man before.”
“Judas led you all to the Mount of Olives?”
Ishmael nodded. “In those times there were olive presses on the mountain, here and there among the groves. In the early hours of the morning—it would have been some two hours before dawn—we went quietly out of the city. We crossed the holy brook of the Kidron in the darkness, and climbed up into the olive groves directly overlooking the Temple Mount, to a clearing where one of those presses was located.”
“Judas knew exactly where to take you?”
“So it seemed. He led us to this place, called in my native tongue got shemanin—place of the olive press. The Greek-speakers render this as Gethsemane. The Nazarene was there, as the informant Judas had led us to believe. He seemed to be expecting us.”
“Was the Nazarene alone?”
“There were three others with him that I could see. Two were older and wore beards, like teachers of the Law, but the other was quite young and clean shaven.”
“Did you recognize the Nazarene, or any of those with him?”
“None was familiar to me. It was a dark night, but we carried a number of torches and lanterns between us. I myself carried one of the lanterns. So it was that I was able to see them all quite clearly. One of these three was a large man with bushy eyebrows and a fierce countenance whom I later came to know was called Simon Petra.”
“Did the Nazarene identify himself?”
“No. As had been prearranged with the Captain of the Guard, Judas went forward and identified the Nazarene by kissing him on the cheek. He then departed.”
“Did the Nazarene resist arrest?”
“He did not resist. In fact, he offered to go peacefully, even putting his arms out for the shackles that the men of the Guard had brought with them. He told the soldiers to put up their staves and told the officers to return their swords to their sheathes. I was disappointed at the time; no miracles were performed, and neither was he made to look a fool. But the one called Simon Petra, he put up a fight. He pulled back his cloak, and drew a short sword, and one of the other two did the same. The captain warned the two of them to give up their arms, but Simon Petra raised his sword and brought it down on the person nearest to him. That person was my cousin Malchus, who was not armed. Malchus went to dodge the blow, moving to his left…” The old man reenacted the moment, leaning to the left as if he were Maalchus. “But he was not nimble enough to avoid the blade. It came down here…” He touched his right temple. “It took off his right ear, as neat as you like. I am certain that Simon Petra meant to kill him, and would have succeeded had Malchus not moved as quickly as he did. Poor Malchus looked down and saw his ear lying on the ground, and let out a terrible wail, then collapsed.”
“Did the Nazarene attempt to help your cousin with his wound?”
“How could he? The manacles had already been fixed around his wrists.”
“So, there was no miraculous cure for your cousin Malchus?”
“Would that it had been so. Poor Malchus was deformed for the rest of his days.”
“Is he still alive, your cousin?”
Ishmael sighed. “Malchus was taken by a fit some years ago.”
“What took place after your cousin was struck?”
“The Nazarene told his people to lay aside their weapons. Simon Petra threw down his bloodied sword and ran off. The other man also dropped his sword, and all three of the Nazarene’s accomplices fled into the trees. The soldiers of the Guard gave chase. There were people running everywhere in the night, with much shouting and confusion. They caught up with the youngest one, but somehow in the tussle he slipped out of his robe and got away—perfectly naked, some of the soldiers told me later. I felt for him, because it was a cold night.”
“Then what took place?”
“The Nazarene was taken in chains back into the city, to the house of Ananus.”
“You also went to the house of Ananus?”
“We all did. Someone told me to take up Malchus’ ear from the ground, but I could not bring myself to do it. Someone else took it up. They said they would give it to a physician, to sew back on. A physician did later try just that, but the flesh of the ear was dead and they took it off again. The soldiers also took up the two discarded swords.”
“What took place at the house of Ananus?”
“The Nazarene was taken before Ananus, and Eleazar, and Jonathan, and Theophilus, and Matthias, the sons of Ananus, all Sadducees and councilors of the Great Sanhedrin like their father. There were also other members of the Sanhedrin present, including some Pharisees. They had all been waiting for the Nazarene to be brought in, and they quizzed the Nazarene about his activities, before taking him to Caiaphas.”
“They had been expecting his arrest?”
“So it seemed to me.”
“Were you a witness to his questioning?”
Ishmael shook his head. “While the priests conducted the questioning I went down to the kitchens in the basement, where there was a warm fire. There I waited with the soldiers and others for the outcome of affairs above our heads. It was by that time into the twelfth hour and coming on toward dawn. While I was warming myself, one of Caiaphas’ maidservants who was known to me came to me and said, ‘Look there, that man is a Galilean and I am certain that I have seen him with the Nazarene before today’ She pointed him out to me in the crowd, and I recognized the man as Simon Petra.”
“Did you speak to this man?”
“Plucking up my courage, I went over to him and said, ‘Were you not with the Nazarene in the olive grove tonight, and did you not strike my cousin Malchus?’”
“What did he say to that?”
“He denied it. Vehemently.”
“Did you believe his denial?”
Ishmael shook his head. “Yet, what proof of my accusation could I offer? There was also the fact that he was a large and powerful man; much larger and more powerful than I. He was without doubt a Galilean; his country bumpkin’s accent betrayed him. Later I thought to find one of the others in the arresting party, som
eone who had also seen him near the olive press. I went upstairs and told one of the officers of the Temple Guard. By that time it was too late. The officer and I went back down to the kitchens, some little time after sunrise. The trumpets of the Temple Guard—the ‘cockerels,’ we called them—had only a little while before sounded the hour and the end of the last watch from a Temple tower, and this was echoed by a Roman trumpeter at the Antonia. The man I had recognized as Simon Petra was nowhere to be seen. The officer thought that I must have imagined seeing the Galilean, but as I have told people since I have no doubt to this day that I did see Simon Petra there, and so did the maidservant.”
“What do you think Simon Petra was doing there?”
“At the time, I thought he must have been planning to break his master free.”
“This Simon Petra was to claim to have seen the Nazarene alive after his execution. Old man, tell me truly, do you think that the Nazarene was the Jews’ Messiah, and rose from the dead?”
Amused, Ishmael smiled gently. “Tribune, I am still waiting for the Messiah.”
Thoughtful, Martius came to his feet, comparing the old man’s information with the other evidence the investigation had produced to date. That evidence seemed to corroborate all that Ishmael had told him. Even the reference to Simon Petra following the Nazarene to the house of the former high priest rang true with information contained in the Lucius Letter and the Marcus and Matthias documents. He looked back down to Ishmael, and asked, “What more can you tell me, about the death of the Nazarene, or events that followed his death?”
“There is little to tell. Caiaphas officiated at the Nazarene’s crucifixion, and I accompanied him. He and I saw the Nazarene put up, but Caiaphas did not remain after that. He did not wait for the Nazarene’s death. A crucified man does not die quickly, as you surely would be aware. Caiaphas and I went back to the High Priest’s house.”
“Did you hear anything to suggest that Jesus of Nazareth did not die on a cross?”
“He died up there true enough. It was what happened to the body that concerned Caiaphas most. He and Pilatus had agreed that all the prisoners would be dispatched and brought down before the Sabbath. I should tell you that Caiaphas did not hear until some time later that the legs of the Nazarene were not broken to hasten his death, as was the case with the other condemned men that day. That annoyed Caiaphas, but did not concern him as much as the body snatching. You see, it was Caiaphas’ fear that the Nazarene’s followers would steal the body and say that he had risen from the dead, to further the claim that he was the Messiah, the anointed successor of King David.”
“As proved to be the case,” Martius remarked. “Why did Caiaphas fail to take steps to prevent the body being stolen?”
“Steps were taken. Caiaphas went to Pilatus and asked for troops from the Roman garrison to guard the tomb, but Pilatus told him that the Temple had its own soldiers of the watch, in copious number, and that he should use those. That is what he did.”
“Guards were posted at the tomb? Yet still the body disappeared?”
“It later eventuated that these men of the Temple Guard were bribed to leave their posts, and it was then that the body was removed. They later claimed they had fallen asleep, but the truth was different.”
“Bribed by whom? Removed by whom?”
“By the Nazarene’s followers. The Temple soldiers involved were all dismissed, but the damage had been done…” Ishmael’s voice trailed off. “That is all I know, tribune,” he said weakly. “Please go now, before you attract unwelcome attention to me.”
Martius reached to the purse on his belt, loosened the leather tie, and inverted the purse over his cupped hand. Silver and gold coins tumbled into his palm. He knelt again briefly, pressing the coins into the old man’s hand. “Take care of your granddaughter, old man,” he said, before standing and walking quickly away. As he went, he looked back, to see that the old man had lain his head against the wall and closed his eyes. The child was watching Martius go. Her face was impassive, but her emerald eyes shone into his heart.
As soon as he returned to the fortress, Martius sought out the questor and imparted all that he had learned from Ishmael. Varro felt that despite the old man’s concern about his own security the value of his information made it necessary to question the former servant of the High Priest with secretaries present. Centurion Gallo was ordered to take forty men to locate and bring in Ishmael.
Leaving shields and javelins behind, the legionaries hurried through the city at the jog. Once he reached the amphitheater, Gallo went looking for an old man and a green-eyed girl meeting the description provided by Tribune Martius. Despite an extensive search, they found no sign of either. Ishmael and his granddaughter had vanished.
Varro was dining with his officers and freedmen that night, discussing the testimony of Ishmael, when a soldier of the watch came with a message for Martius. A child had come to the fortress gate begging to see the tribune; a green-eyed girl. Martius immediately sought Varro’s leave to depart the table and hurried down to the fortress’ decuman gate. Little Gemara sat on the stone pavement just inside the closed gates. When she saw him striding toward her, the child quickly came to her feet. In the lamp light, Martius could see that her cheeks were stained by tears.
“Master,” she said. “It’s grandfather. Please help me.”
Summoning Centurion Gallo and several squads of his men, Martius went with the child as she trotted through the city streets. She led them not toward the amphitheater, but down to the docks. At the quayside, Gemara pointed to the arcades where seamen lived. “Over there,” she said. “Men were hurting grandfather.”
Martius and his legionaries fanned out along the stone dock, turning out sailors and laborers lying beneath the arcades as they sought the child’s grandfather. It was apparent to Martius that for safety’s sake the old man had changed his abode, fearful that he had been seen talking with the tribune. The troops searched the arcades several times, but not a sign of Ishmael did they find.
Then, from the dockside, there arose an urgent shout. “Tribune, over here!”
Martius and his men hurried to the edge of the pier and followed a soldier’s pointing finger. A figure could just be seen floating in the water between two docked merchantmen. Face down, and unmoving, it was the figure of a small, bald man. One of the few soldiers in the group who could swim volunteered to go into the water, and after stripping off his equipment the naked legionary eased down into the water then swam out to the figure. “Dead!” he called, stating the obvious, once he reached it. Grasping the corpse’s tunic, he towed it to the dockside. Willing hands reached down and dragged the body up onto the dock; others hauled the dripping soldier from the water.
As the body was laid on the stones in front of him, Martius recognized the face as Ishmael’s. There was a savage wound from one side of the old man’s neck to the other. Martius turned to see Gemara standing, white faced, looking at her grandfather’s corpse from the arcades. “Take her back to the fortress,” he ordered Optio Silius.
Centurion Gallo searched the body. “Not as much as a single ass, Tribune,” he reported when he had finished. “You say he had money on him this afternoon?”
“Too much money,” Martius sighed. “It cost the old man his life.”
“You want to keep the child?” said Varro with astonishment, after Martius had returned to the dining chamber and brought him the news of the death of their best witness, and then informed him of his desire to retain little Gemara with the expedition. “You are not an uncharitable man, Marcus, but even so you surprise me.”
“Put it down to guilt,” said the tribune. “I made an orphan of the child.”
“Not you—the cutthroats of Caesarea. What are we going to do with a child in our midst? Does she not have family we can pass her onto? A child is best with her kinfolk, Marcus, you must agree.”
“The old man was her last living relative,” Martius advised with a helpless shrug.
Varro peered at him, as if trying to discern a motive that had yet to emerge. “Are you sure that is all there is to it?”
“Let the girl travel with the slave Miriam,” Martius suggested. “They will be company for each other. Both are Jewish, after all. We already have one female encumbrance, so another is not going to make so much difference.”
Varro smiled to himself. “That would give you an excuse to visit Miriam,” he said, “to look into the child’s welfare. I know that Miriam has caught your eye, my friend.” An astute person would have picked up a hint of jealousy in the questor’s voice.
“No more than you, Julius.” Martius was sounding exasperated. “Look, you force me to admit it—the girl reminds me of my little sister. No man showed Domitilla any compassion; the swine slit her throat. It is the least I can do to help the girl. There, you have it. Does that satisfy you, questor?”
Varro suddenly felt foolish. “I’m sorry, Marcus. It was insensitive of me. Very well, I may possibly live to regret this, but, yes, she can join the party. As you say, she can travel with the slave Miriam.” Summoning Callidus, Varro gave the freedman instructions to make the necessary arrangements. But instead of hurrying off to carry out his instructions Callidus lingered in the doorway, as if wanting to say something.
Varro saw his freedman’s expression. “What troubles you, Callidus?”
“Troubles me, my lord?” Callidus responded. “Well, to be truthful, something that troubles me considerably. You may have had much too much on your plate to have noticed it for yourself, but while we have been in Caesarea, Gaius Venerius and Antiochus have been spending a considerable amount of time in each other’s company. I worry that they may involve themselves in some sort of mischief together.”
“Is that so?” By his tone, the questor did not seem overly bothered.
“They do make the most surprising bedfellows, my lord—a Jew who has sworn off his faith, and a young knight who has not hidden his dis like for the Jews.”
The Inquest Page 19
