The Inquest Read Online Free PDF Page B

Crispus. Have your men ready.”
    “Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord. My men are ready now, my lord,” he gushed, eager to please the questor.
    “The day after tomorrow will suffice,” Varro returned.
    “Egyptians? Macedonia?” Martius grumbled to himself, beginning to ascend steps to the bathhouse door.
    Crispus fell in beside Varro, as the questor also began to climb the steps, and Callidus brought up the rear.
    “Would a fellow have much chance of writing a little poetry on this assignment, do you think my lord?” Crispus asked.
    “Poetry!” Martius bellowed in front, spinning around to face the others as they came up. “Did you say poetry, prefect?”
    “Er, yes, tribune.” A fearful Crispus quickly turned to Varro. “I have published an amount of verse, my lord. My friend the noted poet Statius says that my work shows great promise. I had thought, with the Jewish business all but dealt with, there could be a lull or two during this expedition when I might be able to put pen to paper. I had hoped to use the journey out from Rome to advantage, but I am not a good sailor, and composing verse aboard a tossing merchantman is no easy feat.”
    “I can imagine,” Varro responded with an amused smile.
    “Poetry!” Martius exclaimed again. “If we do strike trouble in the south, Crispus, you can use that cavalry sword of yours to decapitate a few rebels with poetic flourish! Will that suit you?”
    Crispus smiled weakly. “Yes, tribune.”
    Martius turned and continued in through the bathhouse door. “Poetry!” he spat.
    Crispus looked at Varro with a plaintive expression.
    “You will find the tribune a harsh critic but a firm friend, Crispus,” Varro assured the prefect. “We can count ourselves lucky that he is going with us.”
    “Yes, my lord,” Crispus responded without conviction.
    Varro continued on up the steps. He sympathized with the young prefect; they could not all be dashing heroes like Martius, and to his mind Rome needed her writers as much as she needed her fighters. Just the same, knowing that he would have his friend Martius as his strong right hand made him feel a little better about undertaking this difficult mission. Only that morning Collega had informed him that he had accepted the offer made by Antiochus and was assigning the Jewish magistrate to Varro’s expedition as his interpreter. Collega was also sending along his secretary Pythagoras, supposedly to help Varro write his report about the death of the Nazarene, even though Varro had a perfectly capable secretary, Artimedes. But Varro knew Pythagoras’ brief would be to keep a covert eye on the questor and report back secretly to Collega in Antioch.

IV
AN IMPOSSIBLE MISSION
    Antioch, Capital of the Roman Province or Syria. March, A.D. 71
    ‘Come at once,’ said the message summoning Varro to the governor’s mansion on the eve of the expedition’s departure. The questor found his commander playing dice with six freedmen and a youth who looked vaguely familiar to Varro. Collega was never happier than when he was eating or when he was winning at dice.
    “Ah, questor,” said the smiling Collega, turning on the stool where he sat before the gaming table with the fritillus , the dice box, in hand. “Just one more throw,” he said, shaking the box. With a jerk of the hand he cast a pair of dice onto the wooden gaming board. All eyes watched the ivory cubes tumble and roll to a standstill. Leaning forward to read each die, Collega roared with delight. “I win!” At the same time, his companions threw up their hands and groaned with despair. “ Par duplex! Double evens!” Collega gloated. “Pay up, all of you.”
    As the other players dug into purses, Collega came to his feet. Briefly he winced with pain and put a hand to his lower back. “The old back problem,” he said in explanation to Varro. “It is nothing.” Then, looping his arm up over the taller Varro’s shoulder, he steered him across the room, to stand in