The Encounters of Quintas Livius

By Patrick M. Garry

Quintas Livius, a Roman tax clerk, finds himself a hunted man after filing an investigative report on a rash of disturbances in Galilee surrounding a supposed miracle worker named Jesus. In the wake of Jesus's crucifixion, the authorities in Jerusalem must squelch a brewing rebellion over what has come to be seen as a rushed execution of a genuine prophet. Because of his report, which had been submitted prior to Jesus's trial, Quin becomes a prime object of that post-crucifixion cover-up.

During his investigation, Quin had unknowingly become entangled in an anti-Jesus conspiracy--an entanglement severed only after Quin got thrown together with a group of Jesus followers and an itinerant merchant trying to make money off those followers. Among the people Quin meets are a man who worked at a wedding feast in Cana and a young girl who carries a rope she said was used to lower a man through a roof to be healed by Jesus.

The report Quin eventually submits will subject him to the wrath of a ruling establishment seeking to eliminate any evidence that it might have known the truth of Jesus before condemning him. But as he flees for his safety, Quin encounters the risen Jesus and learns the truth behind all the strange circumstances he investigated.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Resource Publications
• Release date: Jun 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9781666775471

Patrick M. Garry

Patrick M. Garry, JD, PhD, is professor of law at the University of South Dakota. He is the award-winning author of several books, including Conservatism Redefined, which received Honorable Mention in World magazine's Book of the Year honors. Garry writes frequently for both popular and scholarly publications, and he has testified before Congress on several occasions. He has delivered hundreds of lectures across the country.

Book preview

Chapter One

Quin’s superior in Jerusalem never moved away from his worktable. What good is a table if you aren’t sitting at it? he would bark out to anyone who questioned his sedentary routine.

Having a table-bound superior was the best part of Quin’s job. He worked for what was referred to as the Tax and Customs Office. Quin was the lowest-level worker in the Jerusalem office, a long-distance errand boy. He delivered orders and directives to all the other Tax and Customs officials throughout Palestine. He spent weeks at a time traveling the dusty roads of the Roman Empire in Palestine. And even when he wasn’t out traveling on his own, he could still escape his superior’s notice just by avoiding the visual range of the table.

Quin didn’t have a lot of faith in people. So to him, the best superior was the one who had the least to do with him.

Where’s Quin? the superior bellowed out. His name was Emil Domita. He belonged to the lowest rank of Roman officials in Jerusalem and insisted that Quin address him as Quaestor Domita. But Quin knew that the title of Quaestor exceeded his superior’s actual rank.

Quin glanced around to see if anyone was watching him, sitting out back of the small adobe building that housed the Tax and Customs Office. He heard his superior’s crackly voice through the open window in the wall lining the stone patio where Quin went to keep out of sight.

Quin? You out there? came the voice again.

Quin did a second glance around.

After the fourth round of shouts, Quin decided that the voice meant business. He stood up, walked in the back door of the building, and then entered Emil’s room. He tried to act out-of-breath, as if he’d been running from somewhere. Emil always seemed to like workers who were out of breath.

You called, Emil? Quin said, gasping for air.

Quaestor Domita to you, snapped an irritated voice. I’m sending you up to Galilee. Ever been there before?

No.

Doesn’t matter. I need you to do some fact-gathering. Our man up there has disappeared. Maybe you can find him, but don’t count on it. He’s been gone for weeks. And we got a lot of problems up there. You ever done any investigating?

No. You always said investigating was for people smarter than I was.

Well . . . then you’ve suddenly gotten smarter. Or smart enough. But don’t get too smart. That’s been your real problem. You think you’re smarter than you are. You’re arrogant, that’s why I’ve never been able to trust you, the obese man with the crooked and missing teeth growled, as he kept his eyes glued to his desk. He rarely looked at Quin when speaking to him. Quin often wondered if Emil would even recognize him if he saw Quin out on the street, away from this office.

Maybe I shouldn’t go then, Quin said, trying to study the documents being shuffled around on the desk. I don’t want to overstep my bounds.

That’s not your decision to make, boy. You need to learn to keep your mouth shut.

I’m a slow learner. That’s what you’ve always told me.

You fail this assignment, don’t bother coming back.

That was Quin’s temptation, or fantasy, every time he traveled outside of Jerusalem. One of these days, he figured, he wouldn’t come back. Aside from the meager income from this job, he had no reason to come back. But for someone like him, income, no matter how meager, was hard to come by. Being a Roman in Jewish Jerusalem, he had only the Roman bureaucracy to employ him. He hated Jerusalem, but he wanted to be smart. He wanted to have enough money before he set out for someplace where outsiders were the norm.

He supposed he was lucky to have the job he had. There were worse. He could be assigned to the burial detail or to the garbage unit. Quin thought the Jews should clean up their own garbage, but he once heard a Roman prefect say that the surest way to rebellion was to let the garbage pile up.

Here’s the list of complaints we’ve received up in Galilee, Emil said, handing a parchment to Quin. I just need you to gather the facts. You’re not there to make any decisions or issue any orders. You’re just a lowly errand boy, you understand?

Yes sir, low-life, yes sir. You sure I should even risk talking to people?

You really aren’t very smart, are you? Emil said, leaning back in his chair and looking directly at Quin for the first time. With your family history, you should have learned some quiet obedience. I’m this far from kicking you out of here, he said, holding up his hand, with his thumb and forefinger positioned about half an inch apart.

Quin bit his lip. Generally, Emil didn’t seem to care about Quin’s attitude. But maybe this was one of those times he should just keep silent. Quin always wondered if Emil actually had enough energy to fire him. Quin’s job safety resided in the fact that no one else wanted to travel Palestine to deliver orders and packages and sleep amidst the rocks in deserts and eat the dried bread he carried in his bag. But then, if Quin wasn’t around, maybe Emil would just forego the deliveries and messages.

Everyone expected Quin to be sensitive or embarrassed about his father; but in truth, Quin was so ashamed about things with his mother that he had no room left for sensitivity about his father.

Quin didn’t believe the accusations made after his father’s death. Because he knew bureaucrats always blamed the easiest victim. The announcement from the Prefect’s office stated that Quin’s father had been killed by loyal Roman troops attempting to stop the theft of the caravan. According to the official announcement, Quin’s father had conspired with thieves to ambush the caravan bringing back valuable goods from Egypt. Rumors accompanying the announcement depicted Quin’s father as a corrupt civil servant with staggering gambling debts.

His father never gambled. He didn’t even drink wine. Quin remembered that his father had once refused even the gift of a basket of fruit from a merchant. And his father spent every night at home. Unless he had to accompany a trade caravan or visit some of the provincial tax collectors, he was always at home. Quin didn’t know when he would have time for gambling.

The problem with his father, Quin later concluded, wasn’t gambling or corruption. It was insignificance and lack of connections. He was branded a corrupt thief and conspirator because he had no one who cared about his reputation. No one who mattered, anyway. And for all Quin knew, his father was killed by corrupt soldiers whom he tried to stop from robbing the caravan.

His mother was never the same. Apparently his corrupt father had hidden away no money, so Quin and his mother became tenants in the gentile ghetto of Jerusalem, with his mother selling flowers in the city market. That was when Quin turned to the quickest way he knew of to make money.

But Quin didn’t like to think about his mother. He was not a moralistic or god-fearing person, but he felt debilitating guilt over his mother and what happened to her.

vvv

The next morning, a young boy who did errands in the city for Quin’s superior appeared at the door of the room Quin rented from an elderly widower and summoned Quin for an immediate meeting with Emil. Quin had not planned on going to work today. He never went into work the day before he embarked on a trip.

You live here? the boy asked, standing at the door and surveying the room with disbelieving eyes.

No. I’m here shopping for investment properties.

They told me you had a mouth. But if you live here, you must be a nobody.

The last boy who said something like that to me ended up face down in a cistern with a bloody jaw. You see, when you’re a nobody, you don’t have to worry about getting caught. Quin glared at the boy. He wondered if the boy would take him seriously. But he couldn’t tell, from the blank expression on the boy’s face. It was possible that the boy wasn’t smart enough to be afraid.

I’m supposed to personally bring you back, the boy said. I’ll wait on the bench outside. I don’t care how long you take.

Quin didn’t bother shutting the door after the boy walked away. He could have left right now, but he went over and laid on his bed. He would get up when he felt like it.

You’ve kept me waiting, Emil said from behind his desk when Quin arrived.

I was in the midst of preparing for tomorrow’s journey.

Well, you can pack heavy. You’re getting a donkey. And a guide. But don’t get a big head. This wasn’t my idea.

Quin had never traveled on a donkey. He had always gone on foot. And never with a guide. Quin doubted that anyone ever cared whether he arrived safely at his destination.

My own donkey, or do I need to share it? Quin asked.

It’s not your donkey, and it’s not Rome’s. Does that answer your question? If you’re lucky, your guide will let you pack your bag on it.

Who’s the guide? I’ve never had one before, Quin said. He had seen guides on his travels. Rich people, important people had guides. Or maybe they were more like personal servants. But Quin didn’t think that would be the nature of his guide.

Someone you don’t deserve. And someone you don’t belong with. So don’t forget your place. He’s the son of a prominent Jewish family here in Jerusalem. A little older than you probably. His name is Asa Haran. He will meet you in front of the temple square at five tomorrow morning.

Quin watched Emil continue shuffling documents on his desk. Quin knew Emil was finished speaking, but Quin did not move. He stood there watching, wondering how long it would take Emil to look up from his table. Since he would be gone for weeks, Quin felt like irritating Emil before he left.

Quin knew he had limited power in the world. Maybe the only real power he had was to irritate people. So that was the power he exerted.

Get out, Quin, the man finally barked, but without looking up. Try to act like an adult on this trip. And don’t rush back. It’ll be a pleasure to have you gone.

Quin turned and started walking toward the door. But before he reached it, Emil called out: Hey, you know how you’re going to find that Asa fellow in the crowd?

I’ll find him, Quin said. What he didn’t say was that he had met Asa Haran before.

vvv

For a moment, Quin thought Asa was waving to someone else.

When he realized Asa was waving to him, Quin immediately suspected some kind of ploy.

Do you remember me? We met once, Asa said, reaching out to shake Quin’s hand.

Yes. Sure.

My family appreciated your help. I know you must not like traveling all the way up to Galilee, but maybe I can help you out. I know a lot of people where you’re going.

Quin didn’t trust people, so he studied Asa’s face for the usual signs. But Asa didn’t dart his eyes or fumble with his garment or shift weight from one leg to another. Asa would be hard to read, Quin thought. Asa’s comfortable, confident aura tended to give him an honest, sincere look. Then again, rich people inevitably looked comfortable.

Asa’s family were merchants. When a load of rugs being imported from Persia got held up in Damascus because of a tax dispute, Quin traveled to Damascus to deliver an order of release. And Asa was the family representative sent to say thank you with a basket of figs and several wineskins.

Are you all set to embark, or do you need to go anywhere or pick up anything? Asa asked.

Quin wondered if Asa was referring to his small bag. The donkey standing beside Asa had two trunks and three bags slung over its back.

I travel light, Quin said.

That’s the mark of an experienced traveler, Asa said, patting Quin on the back. I have to deliver some things for my family, he added, glancing over at the trunks. Otherwise, I might not have gotten the donkey.

Quin didn’t know if that was true. Asa could probably travel by horse or even chariot if he wanted, from what Quin knew of his family. So maybe he was trying to put himself on the same plane as Quin.

No one had ever patted Quin on the back before. Not even his father.

We can trade off riding on the donkey, Asa added.

No. It’s your donkey. I’m used to walking.

But I owe you. My family owes you.

That was another thing no one had ever done before: say that they owed Quin.

As the two young men stood in the square outside the temple, several people waved or called out to Asa, who acknowledged with his own wave, but never called them over for a conversation. He held onto the reins of the donkey and kept his attention on Quin the entire time.

Asa probably knew a lot of people, Quin thought. He probably had a lot of friends. Even Quin, who generally didn’t like people, had to admit that Asa was likeable. Asa had the kind of face that looked like it was smiling even when it wasn’t. He looked as if he was not afraid of anything, not even of being caught talking in the temple square to a Roman low-life.

Quin noticed immediately the quality of Asa’s clothes. Quin had spent ten months examining fabrics from the east, for taxation purposes, so he recognized the high-tariff fabrics when he saw them. But the colors of Asa’s garments weren’t the flashy kinds that some of the wealthier people tended to wear; nor were they the vivid colors that Asa’s two sisters wore. All of Jerusalem knew of the two sisters, both younger than Asa. Come to think of it, Quin realized, Asa looked like the kind of man who had two notoriously beautiful sisters.

Despite Quin’s reluctance, Asa took Quin’s bag and tied it onto the donkey’s back. And while Asa tied the ropes, Quin glanced around the square. It all looked so different, almost foreign, standing in the middle of the square, watching people scurry by, staring at Quin as they walked, some waving, some tripping as they stared too long at Quin and Asa and the donkey. Quin had never stood out like this, out in the open. He tended to keep to the edges, out of the line of sight. In Quin’s experience, being noticed by people never led to anything good.

The traders and merchants were setting up their stands and displays. The aroma of some of the foods began making Quin hungry, even though he had eaten his usual morning meal less than an hour earlier. But the food he had eaten couldn’t compare to some of the aromas drifting toward him now.

As he surveyed the increasingly hectic square, he thought he should come down here more often. Maybe during his free time he could get a job helping out a merchant. He had nothing else to do. Nothing constructive. And he would like to come back to this environment. It seemed like a happy environment. Unlike the Tax and Customs Office.

I don’t really know why you’re going with me to Galilee, or why I’m going with you, Quin said, after Asa had finished securing the bag. My superior didn’t tell me, and he didn’t seem in the mood for questions.

Isn’t that just like government officials? Asa laughed, slapping Quin on the back once again. And the way Asa said it and laughed about it made Quin feel as if he understood perfectly. This could be a good trip, he thought. My father was at some function with your superior, or your superior’s superior, I don’t know, but when he learned you were going up to Galilee, he said I was going too and that I could get you to a good inn and introduce you to some people you might need to talk to. And besides, I’d love the company. We’ll have fun. I’ve got some wine for us, he said, winking and nodding his head back to the bags strapped to the donkey.

Quin didn’t think Emil would have ever attended an event attended by Asa’s father. And he didn’t think anyone affiliated with Tax and Customs cared about Quin’s comfort and convenience. But then, the mention of the wine seemed to overpower everything else.

vvv

After they had left the gates of the city, Quin asked Asa why he was going to Galilee.

Business, he said. My family wants to find some new fish and wool providers. And we have some other business partners I need to visit. My father and uncles and older cousins don’t like to make this trip. But I have friends up there, and I’m hoping I can establish my own trading relationships.

How often do you go up to Galilee?

Often enough, I guess.

So . . . do you transport the goods to Jerusalem, or sell them in Galilee?

"Both. But Jerusalem is a bigger market, so we generally transport more than what we sell up in