The Last Sacrifice (17 page)

Helius left unspoken what they both knew. If Chayim did not return, the only way Leah or Hezron would leave the palace was as a corpse.

“I want you to find someone for me,” Helius said. “And no one must know about your task. If Nero finds out, I’ll have you tortured and executed.”

This was why Helius had chosen Chayim. The young Jew’s obvious lust for power had ensured compliance and trustworthiness so far. And with Leah and Hezron prisoners at the palace, Chayim now had extra motivation to do as directed.

“Certainly,” Chayim said after a pause so brief it might have been imagined.

“You are to find a woman named Sophia,” Helius said. “She is Vitas’s wife. You might recall that certain episode a few evenings ago when Vitas attacked the emperor?”

The dinner party. Chayim was sure he had been invited specifically to see how Helius and Tigellinus dealt with their enemies.

“The man was arrested and killed a few days ago in the arena,” Chayim said. “His wife, I believe, was invited to commit suicide.”

“She fled Rome,” Helius said. “With only an old man as companion. Their destination is Corinth. Find them both. Either on the way to Corinth or in Corinth. The sooner the better. Wherever you find them, your letter will give you authority to allow your soldiers to arrest Sophia.”

“And the old man?” Chayim asked.

“He’ll need to be killed, of course. That way there will be one less person able to talk about it.”

Chayim nodded.

“One last thing,” Helius said. “The soldiers will not know why you are looking for the woman and the old man. But they will know enough to let them decide if it looks like you are going to betray me. And if that happens, they have orders to supervise your crucifixion.”

“I know the beast I must escape,” Vitas said to John. “I’ve fled the city of this beast—Rome. But
‘from the sea it came
’
?”

The crew around them was working with urgency but not panic. Because Vitas could do nothing to help anyway, he remained focused on the questions that were compelling to him.

“But
‘from the sea it came
’
?” John repeated the question Vitas had posed. “Answering that is impossible for any Roman who demands a literal interpretation of symbolic language.”

“I’m trying to understand this Hebrew message, which is telling me either that Nero rose from the sea or Rome rose from the sea. Which is it?”

“Does a province of Rome serve the emperor or the empire?” John asked.

“Why does it seem that you enjoy tormenting me by answering questions with questions?”

John laughed softly. “I’m a Jew. We don’t think of it as torment. We think of it as a learning method. You now understand how I was taught in my youth by rabbis in the synagogues.”

“So I should suffer as you did.”

“If you must consider it suffering. But answer me. Does a province serve the emperor or the empire?”

“Both.”

“Then you have your answer. The Beast is both Nero
and
Rome. Even when Nero no longer rules, the Beast will exist.”

“You dance around like a fox pouncing on mice in tall grass. I feel like one of the mice. All of this, and I still don’t understand how Nero and Rome rise from the sea.”

“Rome is west of Judea. Across the Mediterranean. To us Jews, when you came to conquer, it was as if you rose from the sea and descended upon our land. But the language is even richer than that and speaks on a different level too, if you understand our culture. The sea is also sin, its dark depths an abode of evil and chaos.”

“To understand this, then, I need to understand how you Jews think.”

“You must understand our culture and history to understand many of the references in the message written for you and, of course, the vision of Revelation that the message draws from. This vision was written and passed on to others,” John continued. “It circulates now among the followers of the Christos. To understand its richly symbolic language, you need to have familiarity with the sacred writings of the Jews.”

“Why?”

“Our prophets often allude to earlier prophecies and symbolic language within those prophecies. To Jews, the blood of the lamb, for example, is not only the literal blood of animals slain in sacrifice, but is an allusion to the way that God allows redemption for—”

“You understand the meaning of these symbols.”

“I know the allusions, yes. And hope to have time to explain over the days of this voyage.”

“Please,” Vitas said, “just explain the symbols in the letter that was delivered to me. Without taking days to educate me.”

John shrugged. He had the scroll with his Greek translation of the letter to Vitas in front of him.
“‘From the sea it came and on the sea you go. North and west of the city of the second beast—’”
John paused—“you want me to identify the second beast for you.”

“Yes!” Vitas said. “Then sentence by sentence, continue doing the same with the rest of this message.”

“Jerusalem,” John said. “That is your second beast. Does that satisfy you?”

Vitas was about to agree, but gave it some thought. He sighed. “It does not.”

“Because even if you trust me,” John said, “this letter is so important to you that you must know you can trust the answers I give.”

Vitas sighed again. “Yes. It makes no sense to me that the city of the second Beast is Jerusalem. If Rome is the first Beast that has devoured your people, how can it be that Jerusalem, the very center of Judea, would be considered a Beast of danger to your people?”

“As I said, we have a long journey,” John said. “I look forward to speaking at length about all of this. I would guess whoever put us on the ship together knew that.”

“How about satisfying me with shorter answers first.” Vitas stared at the writing on the scroll:
North and west of the city of the second beast, find the first of five kings who have fallen. (The sixth now reigns, and the seventh is yet to come.)

“I know where it is telling me to go next,” Vitas announced after some thought.

“As a Roman,” John said, “you should.”

“Julius Caesar, Augustus, Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius, and Nero,” Vitas said. “
‘Find the first of the five kings who have fallen. The sixth now reigns and the seventh is yet to come.’
Nero now reigns, but the first . . .”

Vitas grinned with satisfaction. “North and west of Jerusalem is the city of Caesarea, named for Julius Caesar.” Then he frowned. “Flee Rome; go to Caesarea. Those are vague instructions. Surely there is more.”

“Not on the scroll you gave me,” John said.

Comprehension came to Vitas.
“‘The promise is simple,’”
Vitas quoted aloud from the letter that had accompanied the scroll:
“‘The pieces are scattered in such a way that only you will be able to put them together.’”

“There are more parts to the scroll,” John said.

“Where?” Vitas answered, thinking aloud.

“I can’t answer that,” John said. “But at this moment, we face a more immediate concern.”

Vitas looked where John was pointing.

Ahead, at the approaching whirlpools of Messana.

Hora Quinta

In her private courtyard, Alypia sat in the sun, knees raised, face upward, eyes closed. She’d allowed her tunic to slide across her thighs in a way that showed far more than allowed by modesty. She also pretended not to be aware that Damian had arrived. That she was giving him a voyeur’s moment.

Damian enjoyed it and disliked himself for it.

“I’ve changed my mind.” He was brusque. A way to combat the desire she stirred.

Alypia opened her eyes and slowly swung her face toward him. Her wide cheekbones were beautifully framed by her long, dark hair, unencumbered by the blonde wig she’d worn during their previous meeting in the litter.

“Come closer, then. We have as much privacy as we need here.”

“I’ve decided to look for your stepchildren.” Damian knew the balance of power had shifted because he’d returned to her. There was, however, a simple way to tilt it back toward him again. “But I’m going to need double what you’ve offered.”

“Double?” She sat forward and tucked her legs beneath her, careless of how the tunic fell across her legs.

“Otherwise I’d prefer to stay in Rome.”

She examined him. “You’re bluffing. And it’s a pitiful bluff at that.”

“If what you say about Maglorius is true, he’ll be a dangerous enemy in Jerusalem.”

“You’re not afraid of him. Have you incurred more gambling debts?”

Damian looked away, hoping she’d see it as a sign of weakness.

She laughed. “You are far too easy to read. Too bad you aren’t that easy to seduce.”

“Do we have an agreement?”

“Of course. I’m not worried about money.”

“Then let’s make the arrangements,” Damian said.

“I’d love to,” Alypia said. She smiled and patted a place beside her. “Why don’t we take the rest of the day to make sure we’ve covered all the details?”

“I’ll be sending one of my slaves,” Damian said, very tempted but doing his best to hide it. “Arrange to have half of the amount available. I’ll collect the other half when I return.”

He forced himself to walk away without looking back.

“We could have met at the forum,” Helius said, “but I don’t want people wondering what matter I have to discuss with you.”

“I see,” Caius Sennius Ruso replied, gesturing at the opulence of the private chambers of Helius. “So we are here because you are concerned strictly about my reputation?”

“You’d better be,” Helius said.

“I have nothing to hide.”

“Then tell me where you were the last three days,” Helius said, expecting Ruso to tell a lie. That would give Helius an immediate edge, including a sharp response to Ruso’s sarcastic insolence.

“Yesterday I was at home,” Ruso said evenly.

Evasion like this was no surprise to Helius. “And the day before that?”

“With Gallus Sergius Damian,” Ruso said. “You’re familiar, of course, with his brother, Vitas, as you just had him executed in the arena.”

Ruso was a senator, with his share of influence and power. But that power paled in comparison to the whims of Nero. Most senators, upon an invitation to a private audience with Helius, would show some degree of apprehension. Was Ruso responding with this arrogance because he truly had nothing to hide?

“Did Damian treat you well?” Helius asked.

“No,” Ruso said. “He had me bound and kept me in a shed without food or water.”

Helius tilted his head slightly. This candor was startling.

“Not the answer you expected?” Ruso asked, amused. When Helius remained silent, Ruso continued. “Let’s stop playing games, shall we? I’m sure you already know what happened. Either a spy in Damian’s household or mine told you. Otherwise, why invite me here?”

Helius leaned forward. “You, a senator, captured and bound in broad daylight. Yet I haven’t heard any complaints or calls for the arrest of Damian. Something is strange about this.”

“He was looking for a Jew named John,” Ruso said, “who has written some kind of treasonous letter.”

“Damian told you this?”

“No. He interrogated me as if I were that Jew. I presume you hired Damian.”

Since Ruso had made that accurate presumption, Helius saw no harm in acknowledging it, especially if he could learn more about Damian’s intentions. “Did Damian tell you why he didn’t hand you over to me immediately?”

“No,” Ruso said, still amused.

“Why didn’t you tell him who you were?”

“And risk my death?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Put yourself in my position. You are walking through a market when, without warning, you are gagged and kidnapped and thrown into a private litter. When you are finally taken out of the litter, you discover that the man who has captured you is a famous slave hunter who believes you to be a Jew sought by Nero. You are now isolated in this man’s complete power. What might he do if he discovers he has captured the wrong man? Perhaps kill you to make sure you don’t have a chance to let the world know of his mistake. So I remained silent, hoping that my own clients would somehow come to my rescue.”

“That sounds rehearsed,” Helius said.

“Of course it is,” Ruso snapped. “You call me for a private audience the day after I’m released. I would be an idiot not to expect your questions.”

“Why were you released?”

“Somehow, it didn’t seem like a question to ask. I was happy for my freedom.”

“And now that you are free, why haven’t you had Damian—” Helius stopped as a small slave entered the courtyard, bowed, and waited to be acknowledged or given permission to speak.

Helius sighed. “What is it?”

“The emperor wishes to see you,” the slave said. “Immediately.” Without waiting for Helius to respond, the slave bowed again and trotted from the courtyard.

Helius felt the familiar spasm of his bowels, and it took all his effort to remain composed. Nero? What had the emperor discovered? Was this it? Would he be sent to the arena?

“You were asking why I haven’t had Damian arrested,” Ruso said. “What good would it do? He won’t make that mistake again. And I know that he knows my identity. That alone should keep him away from me in the future.”

Helius blinked, forcing himself to remain in the present. “You know that he knows . . .”

“The slave who released me followed me to my estate. It was pitiful, actually, his efforts to remain hidden.”

“I see.” Helius had hoped to find some leverage on Ruso and at the same time learn more about Damian. He’d failed in both and succeeded in letting Ruso know that he was indeed in pursuit of the Jew who had written the troublesome letter.

“I’m finished with you,” Helius said. He gave Ruso a tiny wave of the hand, suggesting that his brief audience with him was finished and barely of consequence anyway. With legs that hardly wanted to obey him, he escorted Ruso to the hallway and immediately turned the opposite direction.

Nero hated to be kept waiting.

Earlier Pavo had made a decision not to lower the sails, hoping the steering oar would be fixed so soon that it would be more efficient to tack westward than to waste the time it would take to raise the sails again.

He’d lost his gamble.

Even with the wind pushing the sails at an angle instead of from behind, the ship’s speed had been enough to send it dangerously close to the eastern edge of the large island looming ahead.

He and the pilot had also misjudged the tidal currents between the Tyrrhenian Sea to the north of Sicily and the Ionian Sea to the south. At the beginning of the straits, the distance between Sicily and the mainland was under two miles, with a sea bottom so deep it had never been charted. As water rushed between the rising hills on each side, it created a series of whirlpools, the largest of which formed a dangerous vortex beneath the mainland cliff of Scylla.

Charybdis.

This was the giant whirlpool that Ulysses had faced in his great odyssey, with the opposing cliff of Scylla like a monster ready to destroy any vessel that escaped Charybdis.

“Drop the sails!” roared Pavo. “Drop the sails!”

Men scurried to follow his orders.

Although still a half mile away, the sucking and gurgling of the tidal currents at Scylla were easily heard above the screaming of seagulls and the shouting of the crew.

Vitas was mesmerized by the sight of large pieces of jetsam bobbing into the vortex and disappearing. Intellectually, he knew the whirlpool wasn’t as strong as legend suggested; it could not pull down a ship like this. But without a steering oar or sails, he had no doubt it could spin the ship and dash it into the cliffs of Scylla, where the white splash of waves against sharp rocks was easily visible at this distance.

“May the gods be with us,” he breathed.

“May God be with us,” he heard John say.

Vitas turned to John and marveled at the serenity on the older man’s face. His eyes were closed. Vitas didn’t want to intrude on John’s private moment.

He moved closer to Pavo and overheard Betto say, “You should have let us sacrifice the Jew.”

“We’ll deal with that later,” Pavo snapped. “Right now I have a ship to save.”

“Without sails, we’re at the mercy of the current. And you can feel it gaining speed.”

“We’ll drop the sea anchors,” Pavo said. “We won’t drag bottom, of course, but perhaps it will slow us.”

“No,” Betto answered. “We’re going to lose all maneuverability with the sails down. If we get sucked into Charybdis, the last thing we want is something that would prevent us from being spat out again.”

“What do we do?”

“Send me down to the steering oar,” Betto said.

“What!”

“Lower me by rope. Let me see if I can do anything to fix it.”

“We don’t have time.”

“We don’t have a choice.”

Vitas watched Pavo’s face and saw the flickering of a decision.

“Go,” Pavo said.

Three palace guards escorted Helius down a corridor toward Nero’s inner chambers. Helius racked his brain, struggling to find a reason for this summons other than a death sentence. But he of all people knew that when Nero wanted to see someone “immediately,” the prospects for a long life were dim indeed. So Helius contemplated his death, and he discovered something he had suspected all along: he had no courage.

A man can wonder, he realized, but not until the test arrives can he actually know. On occasion, he’d been with soldiers when Christians were arrested and found himself astounded as the mousiest of women became lions of resolve. More often, however, he witnessed this same courage in the arenas as those Christians endured the savagery of the beasts, and he would force himself to ignore traces of jealousy.

As for himself, immediately after the summons, he’d retreated to a lavatory. After vomiting, he lost control of his bowels, too.

His terror was the arena. If he believed in the gods, he would have prayed for the mercy of an invitation from Nero to empty his veins instead.

The arenas. How ironic, Helius thought, that after all he’d helped Nero inflict upon Christians, he’d now learn for himself the horrors of their tribulation.

In the lavatory, preparing to meet with Nero, an image had flashed through Helius’s mind. Of a lawyer found guilty of embezzling from a client and sent to the arena. Rather than face the lions, the lawyer had used a sponge on a stick—the same sponge used for personal hygiene in the lavatory—and shoved the sponge so far down his throat that he successfully committed suicide by asphyxiation.