The Inquest Read Online Free PDF

execution, before disappearing. A claim I must disprove to Collega’s satisfaction.”
    “What? Rose from the dead?” Martius roared with laughter. “Not a difficult thing to disprove, I should have thought, Julius, my friend. Since it is physically impossible!”
    “Evidence, Marcus,” Varro glumly replied. “It will take evidence to destroy the myth that has grown around this man, indisputable evidence.”
    “So, do the Nazarene’s followers claim he still lives? Can we not arrest him and question him? Torture a confession out of him?”
    Varro shook his head. “The body disappeared, shortly after the execution. He has never been seen since.”
    “All very convenient. So, we’re looking for grave robbers?”
    “I suspect the evidence that General Collega requires is simply no longer there to be found. I didn’t ask for this assignment, and now I fear I will fail to come back with the proof that Collega requires. As the Spanish say, sent for wool, I will come back shorn.”
    Again the tribune laughed heartily. Then he looked at Varro. “You need evidence, you say?” He winked at his friend. “Invent it, Julius. Invent it!”
    Now it was Varro’s turn to laugh.
    “I could have extracted evidence from the Nazarenes I questioned, my lord,” Callidus then declared. “Had you permitted me to loosen their tongues my own way.”
    “A non-productive exercise, as I have told you, Callidus,” Varro returned, a little impatient with the freedman’s forthrightness. “These people, who told you they never even laid eyes on the Nazarene when he was alive, will send word to their people in the south, warning them that a Roman questor is asking questions about the Nazarene. If you were one of these people and word were to reach you that the questor was applying torture to Nazarenes, would you not go into hiding?”
    “Well, yes, I suppose so, my lord,” Callidus begrudgingly agreed.
    “That is why your master is the questor and you are the freedman, my dim witted fellow,” Martius scolded him. “Manumission relieved you of the bonds of slavery, not the bonds of stupidity.”
    Callidus did not reply. He was not well disposed toward the questor’s new deputy.
    As the trio reached the entrance to the barracks bathhouse, a tall, gangly officer in a white cloak and wearing a long cavalry sword on his left hip came marching deliberately toward them. As he drew nearer, the officer removed his helmet and slipped it under his left arm, revealing a delicately featured visage and a head of golden curls.
    “Here’s a new face,” said Martius.
    “My new cavalry commander, I think,” said Varro. “Greetings, friend.”
    The blond reached out his right hand to Varro, smiling. “Quintus Cornelius Crispus, Prefect of Horse,” he cheerily announced.
    “Julius Terentius Varro,” said the questor, returning the handshake. “Welcome, Crispus. You have brought my cavalry contingent?”
    The twenty-five-year-old prefect nodded. “With Decurion Pompieus and thirty troopers of the Vettonian Horse, reporting for duty on the questor’s mission to Galilee and Judea, as ordered by General Collega.”
    “Very good. This is Tribune Marcus Metellus Martius, your immediate superior.”
    “Tribune.” Still smiling, Crispus held out his hand to Martius.
    Scowling, Martius briefly took his hand. “You are new to Syria, prefect?”
    “I landed at Laodicea from Rome two weeks ago, tribune.”
    “A green apple,” Martius growled malevolently. “Where were you previously, Crispus? With which unit?”
    Crispus swallowed hard. “The Second Wing of the Egyptian Horse, in Macedonia, my lord.”
    “Egyptians! Macedonia? Not exactly a hotbed of action, is it, prefect?”
    “Er, no, tribune,” Crispus conceded. As the blood drained from his face and the enthusiasm drained from his spirit, and seeing Callidus smirking at him, he turned to the questor for support. “My lord, I, er…”
    “We march at dawn the day after tomorrow,