The Last Sacrifice (33 page)

Lucullus leaned back with a degree of satisfaction. He
had
learned something new. Nero didn’t want the woman. Helius did. This, Lucullus thought, was good. Very good.

When he had the woman captured, it would be a simple matter to have Chayim killed. In Chayim’s place, Lucullus would take the woman directly to Helius in Rome, not to Nero. It was obvious that the woman would be worth something to Helius. And undoubtedly it would be very profitable, given all the effort spent so far to find her.

It was a good plan indeed. And so close to completion.

“Wine!” Lucullus roared again for the slave. “More wine!”

Vitas saw a row of headless men laid neatly side by side by side. Some of the bodies were thin, muscled—obviously those of younger men. Others were fat-bellied, wrinkled, bowlegged. All, however, had the strange inertness and claylike appearance of the dead.

Vitas was in a marble hall, in the middle of the gardens that surrounded Alexandria’s library and medical school. The air was strangely cool, but he wondered if that was his imagination, a self-imposed chill that came with such an obvious reminder of mortality.

Vitas had learned to hate death. Most Romans gloried in military might, placed little value on human life except that of a Roman citizen. But for Vitas, memories of warfare only brought nightmares. And haunting questions.

He pushed his thoughts to the present.

At the far end of the hall, a young, dark-haired man was leaning over a table.

Vitas approached him. Closer now, Vitas saw that the man was stuffing the intestinal cavity of a cadaver with a fine salt. The man himself seemed to be about a decade younger than Vitas.

He looked up and nodded politely at Vitas, showing thick eyebrows and eyes that had lively curiosity. “This one is not ready yet,” the man said.

“Not ready,” Vitas echoed.

The young man must have misunderstood Vitas’s lack of comprehension. “I’m assuming you want the entire body, of course,” he said, his hands deep in the cadaver. “I suppose if you just need an arm or a leg you could take it. I’ll need a few minutes to get the saw.”

Vitas finally understood. “I’m not a physician. I’m looking for Issachar.”

The young man smiled. “I’m impressed you found me.”

Vitas smiled in return. “You were the only one moving in the hall.”

“No,” Issachar said. He finally removed his hands and wiped them on a nearby cloth. “I’m impressed that you were allowed here. You must be a high-ranking Roman.”

Vitas frowned.

“Your accent,” Issachar said. “Difficult to disguise. Nothing Greek about it.” He explained further. “Romans aren’t popular in this city. Especially at this library. It’s been over a hundred years, and they still talk about Julius Caesar as if it were yesterday when he burned half of the library’s scrolls.”

Vitas knew his history, of course. When Julius Caesar pursued Pompey into Egypt, Caesar found himself outnumbered and trapped in enemy territory because an Egyptian fleet had blockaded him in Alexandria. He ordered the ships in the harbor to be set on fire, destroying the Egyptian fleet, but the fire also spread into the city to the Great Library.

But it was more than that. Romans idealized the ancient Greeks—their art, their methods of learning, the mathematics and science that had changed the world. But Romans held near contempt for the Greek world that had peaked in military might with Alexander the Great, then slowly fragmented until the Romans had, in essence, conquered them.

Here in Alexandria, still the pinnacle of the Greek world despite its location at the mouth of the Nile, the Greeks held themselves in high esteem, still mourning Cleopatra’s defeat with Mark Antony. If only the battle at Actium had swung the other way, they believed, Cleopatra’s descendants would be ruling the world, instead of Octavian’s.

“So who are you?” Issachar asked with another smile.

Vitas had expected a broken man, perhaps bitter that his family and wealth had been taken away from him. Not a cheerful man with no apparent guile.

“As you guessed,” Vitas said, “I’m from Rome. What I’d like to know is who sent me from Rome to see you.”

Issachar’s puzzled expression looked genuine to Vitas. Issachar lifted a hand to rub his face as he thought about Vitas’s question, but then pulled it away, as if remembering where he’d just had his hands.

“What a strange question,” Issachar said. “Why wouldn’t you know who sent you?”

“Truthfully, I’m in no mood to explain. I’ve already told my story to your wife.”

“My wife!” Instantly, the carefree attitude of the young man disappeared. “You spoke to her?”

“She told me I would find you here.”

“Tell me everything. How is she? How are my children? Did she seem in good spirits?”

“She sends her love,” Vitas said. Vitas understood too well the pain that this man was feeling.

All the vitality seemed to drain from Issachar.

“She didn’t tell me anything else, however,” Vitas said. “She said if you wanted to explain why you had been taken from the family, you would.”

“How I love that woman,” Issachar said softly. He raised his hands toward his face again, caught himself again, and sighed.

Vitas was curious about the circumstances that had forced Issachar into such debt he had to sell himself as a slave but would not press the man for it. If he wanted to keep it his business, that was his right.

“‘He also forced everyone, small and great, rich and poor, free and slave, to receive a mark on his right hand or on his forehead,’” Issachar said, pressing his lips in frustration as he paused. “‘So that no one could buy or sell unless he had the mark, which is the name of the beast or the number of his name.’”

“Six hundred and sixty-six,” Vitas said without thinking.

“You?” Issachar’s eyes widened. “You, too, are familiar with the Revelation?”

“Only the number of the Beast. That, too, is a long story.” This was not the time or place to talk about John.

“The Jewish leaders in Alexandria have boycotted all of the other Jews who follow the Christos,” Issachar said. “I am a follower. First I was barred from the guild of silversmiths. Then barred from any dealings with anyone in the Jewish community. I could not buy or sell. It drove my family into poverty and then, finally, total desolation.”

Vitas remembered something else John had said to him, on their first night on the boat leaving Rome.
“All of us marked by the Lamb are hated by those marked by the Beast.”

“You are marked by the Lamb?” Vitas asked. “Yet I see nothing.”

“You’re a Roman. Of course you would look for a physical mark. But one’s beliefs and behavior mark whether one serves the Lamb or the Beast. The forehead symbolizes what you believe, and the hand symbolizes what you do. Yes, I have been marked, and my beliefs and actions are plain enough to the guild for them to bar me.”

“Tell me,” Vitas said. “You endure this slavery. Your family suffers. To prosper, all you have to do is accept Caesar as do many other Jews.”

“The Beast will not reign long,” Issachar said. “That is one of the hopes given us by the Revelation. And for those who suffer or perish in this battle against the Beast, eternal hope is given.”

Vitas was again thinking of what John had explained about the vision and the man who had received it on the island of Patmos. “This Revelation is important then?”

“Copies of it have spread all across the world. In every community, we face persecution from Rome and from Jerusalem. It encourages us to persevere in the midst of tribulation.”

“Was it written in Hebrew?” Vitas asked, thinking of the reason he’d come to see Issachar.

“Greek.”

“Which you read.”

“Of course.”

“And what about this?” Vitas handed Issachar the scroll that Pavo’s crew member had brought for Jael.

Issachar looked at the handwriting. “It’s Hebrew.”

“I know,” Vitas answered.
The pieces are scattered in such a way that only you will be able to put them together.
There was a reason this had been delivered to Issachar and a reason Vitas had been sent here. Surely Issachar had the answer. “But can you read it?”

“No,” Issachar said. “I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

Jupiter

Hora Prima

Vitas woke to the sensation of furtive rustling against his belly. He had been sleeping on his back, with his right forearm across his eyes. He wondered if it was a rat, but he didn’t open his eyes.

Instead, he muttered as if still asleep and turned onto his side. As he turned, he clenched the knife he’d laid beside him on the bed before going to sleep and tucked it under his body. He was on a poorly stuffed mattress in a room crowded with snoring men and women.

Vitas cracked open an eyelid. The dark of night had retreated to the gray of early dawn. He could see the outlines of the other customers of the inn on their mattresses, and now that he was fully awake, he became aware of the stench of unwashed bodies and the foul air thick with exhaled alcohol. His body itched, and he knew that bedbugs had engorged themselves on his blood while he slept.

The light touch against his body resumed.

Yes, it was a rat. But a human rat.

In one quick movement, Vitas spun upward, knife in hand. With his other hand, he reached for and found the wrist that belonged to the hand that had been searching.

He yanked hard, toppling the person above him. Vitas rolled with the body of the thief, landing on top and straddling the thief. He raised his knife hand high, ready to plunge.

In the dim light, he saw that it was a young woman.

“No!” the woman said. There was enough light to see the greasy long hair and the thin features and the startled openness of her face.

Vitas relaxed. He was far bulkier than the woman, and she wasn’t armed. There was no physical danger.

Wordlessly, he rose. He checked the belt around his body, making sure his pouch of coins was secure.

The woman scrambled backward, bumping into an old man who woke and grumbled. When he saw it was a woman, he leered. She spat on the old man.

Vitas ignored her. He still had his money, and it wasn’t his place to punish thieves.

Vitas walked away. He wasn’t interested in returning to the mattress in an attempt to sleep any longer, especially as the stench and filth of the inn seemed to cling to his skin. He wanted to find a public bath immediately.

“Wait,” the woman called after him.

He kept walking.

She caught up to him as he reached the street.

Already it was brighter. He could not see the sun on the horizon. In this section of Alexandria, the buildings pressed too closely on the street for that.

“Wait,” she said again. “I have something you want.”

“I’m not interested.” He spoke without turning to her. He doubted he would ever have desire for another woman again. And if he did, it would be a betrayal of his love for Sophia.

She ran in front of him and stepped into his path. Now he could see the pockmarks on her face. She was younger than he had first guessed and had a feral skinniness that spoke of hard times.

Vitas moved around her without pushing her aside.

She ran in front of him again. This time, she said, “Vitas.”

That got his attention. How could she know his name? Or for that matter, where to find him? There was only one person who could have given her the information. The same person who knew he carried a pouch heavy with coins.

“Issachar,” Vitas guessed.

“He told me where to find you.”

Vitas was vaguely disappointed. Like Issachar, Sophia and John were followers of the Christos. While Vitas did not share their faith, he admired their integrity and the character that seemed to silently set them apart. Issachar, too, had seemed to carry himself the same way, indeed had become a slave rather than give up his faith. Had Issachar lied about the reason for his debt? If so, what did it say about the faith he claimed?

“Remarkable,” Vitas said.

“I knew of the inn,” she said.

“No. Remarkable that you found me among all the people in that room.”

“Issachar told me I would be able to recognize you by your signet ring. He was right. No one else there had any jewelry.”

“I’m sure you checked as many as you could. Did you find anything of value on the drunks too far gone to wake?”

Her eyes darted away from him.

“Be sure to share with Issachar,” he said. “At least that will make both your efforts worthwhile.”

“The others I robbed,” she said. “You, I just wanted to make sure you had the coins that Issachar promised.”

Vitas snorted. “Because you thought if you woke me up and asked nicely after you found them, that I’d be happy to give them to you.”

Instead of answering, she reached into her dirty tunic and pulled out a scroll. “Issachar said you’d pay me for this. It belonged to a Jew. John.”

Vitas reached for it. Another scroll. One of the scattered pieces he was meant to put together?

She snatched it back. “Money first,” she said.

“Tell me how you got it,” he said.

“I’m a slave. John asked me to give it to Issachar. He told me Issachar was a wealthy silversmith and that I would be well paid for my efforts.” She made a disparaging gesture. “Only the silversmith did not live where John sent me. Let me tell you, it was a long bit of travel to finally find Issachar. You can’t imagine how his wife reacted when I showed up and asked for her husband. She—”

“You’re a slave. You visited John.”

“I told you that already. He had the scroll and—”

“How did he get it?”

“I’m supposed to know? Look, I just want money. John said I would get it from Issachar. Issachar’s a penniless slave. You’re the man I need to see, and if you want to see this scroll, I’ll need to see money. Understand?”

“John’s cape,” Vitas said. “Describe it to me.”

She did, then paused. “What was it he wanted me to say to you and Issachar to prove the scroll came from him? That’s it. ‘All of us marked by the Lamb are hated by those marked by the Beast.’”

Vitas stared at her thoughtfully.

“Hah,” she said. She smiled, trying to make it coy. But a toothless gap in her bottom teeth ruined the effect. “You know I’m telling the truth now.”

Finally, Vitas reached into his tunic. He fumbled with his coin pouch. “Don’t ask for more.”

She looked at the coin. Bit it hard. Nodded. “Good enough.” She gave him the scroll and watched as Vitas unrolled it. “How much are they asking?” she said to Vitas.

The first part was in Hebrew. The second half, however, was in Greek. Vitas recognized John’s writing style from the first translation John had done on the ship.

This is the second piece, my friend. “There will be two witnesses, killed yet brought alive. Find them and rejoice with them, then take what is given.”

“How much are they asking?” the slave girl repeated, breaking into Vitas’s reading of the scroll.

“Asking?”

“It’s a ransom note, right? It must be a lot if they were willing to send me in to look after him while he was on the ship.”

“They?” Vitas asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Isn’t that a ransom note?” she said. “John’s on a ship bound for Rome. As a hostage.”

Strabo was milking a nanny goat near the compound below his cottage when Lucullus arrived with five soldiers. He ignored them, squirting milk into a bucket, until Lucullus yanked the goat by the ears.

The nanny bleated and kicked and pulled against the rope tied to a stake.

Strabo calmly pulled the bucket clear. He moved away from the nanny so Lucullus would have no excuse to harm it. Strabo then placed his hands on his hips and looked upward at Lucullus. The commander was in full armor, as were the soldiers. All of them, of course, towered over Strabo. Lucullus stepped forward from his men.

“The woman and old man arrived on yesterday’s supply ship,” Lucullus growled. “They inquired at the harbor for the dwarf.”

Strabo told himself that Lucullus had worn armor in a deliberate attempt to intimidate him. He enjoyed the sense of anger that came with the thought. It replaced a portion of his fear. “The woman and old man you bribed me to turn over to you?” Strabo asked.

“The same.”

“Thank you,” Strabo said.

“You thank me?”

“Now that you’ve warned me they are on the island, I’ll watch for them.”

Without anger, Lucullus kicked over the bucket of milk, splashing Strabo. “Listen to me, little man,” Lucullus said. “They were last seen going up the trail to your cottage.”

“When?” Strabo asked. He rubbed his foot across a rivulet of milk in the dust.

“Yesterday afternoon.”

Strabo nodded thoughtfully. “That explains it then.”

“I’m sure you have an explanation for everything.”

“Chara and Zeno were in the vineyard yesterday afternoon. I was looking for a stray goat. It seemed to us that someone had been in the cottage while we were gone. Things had been moved.”

It had been the soldiers who had come searching for Ben-Aryeh and Sophia. Strabo knew this, but he was gambling Lucullus could not be certain that Strabo knew it.

This gamble was Strabo’s only chance. Patmos was too small, and there were only about a hundred people on it, half of them exiles. There was no place to hide, and Strabo wasn’t in a position to be able to move his family, even if he found a sponge diver or a fisherman willing to smuggle them off the island. Not with Chara so far into her pregnancy. Instead of running and hiding, Strabo could only bluff.

“I sent soldiers yesterday afternoon,” Lucullus said, watching Strabo closely. “They found no one.”

“They looked in our house then.” Indignation wouldn’t work here, Strabo told himself. But neither would passive acceptance, for Lucullus would wonder why Strabo didn’t make even a token protest. Strabo’s hands were trembling and he pressed them against his sides. His future and those of Chara, Zeno, and the unborn child depended on how well he handled this.

“If you were the one who sent the soldiers,” Strabo said with quiet bitterness, “I suppose complaining won’t do any good.”

“Where are your wife and son now?” Lucullus said, still intently watching Strabo’s eyes.

“I sent them to a vineyard this morning to prune more vines.”

“A suspicious man would think you’d sent them out of harm’s way. I am such a man.”

“If I expected soldiers, of course I would send them away.” Strabo spit on the ground. “You, of all people, would know how much Chara fears soldiers.”

“To me,” Lucullus said, “there are only two possibilities. The first is this: yesterday afternoon, the old man and the woman came up here to look for you. They didn’t find you but heard the soldiers I sent and managed to hide from them and have fled to another part of the island.”

Don’t agree too eagerly,
Strabo told himself.
Don’t overplay this.
If Chara had to face Roman soldiers again . . .

“
Managed
to hide?” Strabo said. “Elephants in a latrine would be able to hide from your men.”

“Don’t push me,” Lucullus said.

“Roman law still applies on this island,” Strabo said. “I’ve done nothing wrong and here you are, harassing me. On my property.”

“If it’s the first possibility,” Lucullus said, “that means you haven’t lied about any of this. You would have my apologies for this visit. I’m much less concerned about Roman law than I am about a continued supply of wine and fresh milk and cheese.”

Strabo told himself to be no different than any other time in conversation with Lucullus. “You know if I could sell to anyone else,” Strabo said, “I would.”

“The second possibility is that the old man and the woman did find you yesterday afternoon, and that all of you fled at the approach of my soldiers. You’re here, expecting me, and you’ve sent the others away while you hope to convince me of the first possibility.”

Lucullus paced, then whirled and paced back. “Did you wonder why I offered you a bribe to turn them over?” Lucullus asked, smiling.

“You’re lazy.”

“No. I knew I’d hear the moment they stepped off the supply ship. I offered you the bribe to see if you truly were afraid of me. See, if you turned them in, I’d know your fear of me is more than your hatred of me. But if you defied me, then I’d have a better measure of a man who would love to see me dead.”

“What does it matter?” Strabo said. “I bring your soldiers wine and cheese and milk. You pay me.”

“It matters,” Lucullus said, “because if I can’t make a little man like you afraid of me, then what respect would I get from my soldiers?”

Lucullus stepped forward and, in a continuous motion, delivered a swift kick into Strabo’s ribs, sending him to the ground in a heap. Before Strabo could recover, Lucullus leaned over and grabbed the collar of Strabo’s tunic in one hand and his belt in the other. He carried Strabo back to his soldiers, as if Strabo were a child.

“Here he is,” Lucullus told the soldiers. He shook Strabo, who was almost in shock from the impact of the kick. “Such a little, little man. But so much trouble.”

Lucullus spit on the back of Strabo’s bald skull and smiled as it ran down the side of Strabo’s face. “Strabo,” he said, “I really need to know which of the two possibilities I should choose. Did you see the old man and woman? Or were you truly away from the cottage when they got here?”

Lucullus clucked his tongue. “To find out, little man, we’re going to have some fun with you and candle flames.”