The Betrayal (17 page)
Authors: Kathleen O'Neal Gear
At dark, the oil lamps of Leontopolis glittered to life and a pale, fluttering gleam danced over the surface of the river.
Zarathan studied it from where he huddled in the shadow of the broken-down barn with his hands clasped over his ears, trying not to hear what was happening inside. Hours ago, when Cyrus and Kalay had first taken the Roman inside, the sound of blows and grunts had filled the air. Zarathan had quaked at Cyrus' demands that the killer tell him why he'd had to murder everyone in the monastery. Who had given the order? The pain in Cyrus' voice had been more agonizing than the groans of the killer. Now there were no sounds except soft voices, and horses chewing hay.
“We should leave,” Zarathan said. “Isn't it dangerous to stay here so long? Eventually, someone will hear us, or come to check on the horses.”
Barnabas, who knelt in prayer five cubits away, his book bag by his side, did not respond. He'd been praying unceasingly since they'd arrived. In the amber glow of the city, Barnabas' long, narrow face seemed carved of alabaster. Though his deeply sunken eyes remained in shadow, his short gray hair and beard had a faint yellow hue.
Several times, Zarathan would have sworn the old man was weeping. And why wouldn't he? All of this was madness.
Zarathan rose to his feet and walked away. In the distance he could see
the empty merchant booths and the dock that jutted out into the water. People still milled around the boats, probably fishermen coming in late from their labors.
the empty merchant booths and the dock that jutted out into the water. People still milled around the boats, probably fishermen coming in late from their labors.
A gust of wind blew across the river and flapped the hem of his white robe. He barely noticed. He felt empty. Like a gutted fish, his insides were raw and bleeding. This whole monk idea had been a mistake. He longed for nothing more than to go home and hide in his room. If God would let him do that, he would spend all day, every day on his knees in prayer.
They wouldn't have hurt my parents, would they? Surely they didn't burn our home?
His teachers at the monastery had always taught him that the Lord put people in places where they could learn the things necessary to help usher in the Kingdom of God. But what was he supposed to learn from this? Or from the senseless slaughter of his brothers?
He whispered, “Blessed Iesous Christos, why are you punishing me? What have I done?”
Across the garden, near the church, a dog barked and began to howl. Other dogs joined in, filling the night with an eerie chorus.
Tears rose in Zarathan's eyes. The golden dome of the church shone as though drenched in liquid amber. “We should have gone in. Someone there would have protected us. If Barnabas hadn't listened to that woman, we'd be far away by now.”
He folded his arms and hugged himself. The massive stones of the church were perfectly hewn and beautifully laid. Zarathan's father had been a
tekton,
a stoneworker, just like his Lord, Iesous Christos, so he knew quality work when he saw it.
tekton,
a stoneworker, just like his Lord, Iesous Christos, so he knew quality work when he saw it.
Zarathan missed his family more than he'd ever thought possible. He had the overwhelming urge to run all the way home and throw himself into his father's arms. If he could only lie down knowing that his father stood by the door with a setting mallet in his hand, perhaps he could sleep for days. Then he would wake to find that all this had been a terrible nightmare. He yearned toâ
“What?” Barnabas said.
Zarathan turned and saw Cyrus and Kalay exiting the barn leading two skinny horses. The poor animals' ribs stuck out like thin iron bars.
He tramped back across the soft garden soil. Barnabas had risen to his
feet and was staring up at Cyrus like a lost soul. “What else did he tell you?”
feet and was staring up at Cyrus like a lost soul. “What else did he tell you?”
“He told us that Pappas Meridias is on his way to Caesarea in Palestine,” Cyrus said and wiped his right hand on his robe.
Though Zarathan couldn't be certain in the darkness, the stain that coated Cyrus' white linen robe looked like fresh blood. Kalay stood beside him with her red hair tied back and her enticing face gleaming in the moonlight. One of the horses shook its head and it reins clinked.
In a panicked voice, Barnabas asked, “Did he tell you why? Are they going after Pappas Eusebios?”
“I know only that Meridias is desperately trying to find something called the Gate of Yeshua. Do you know what that is?”
Barnabas tilted his head as though reluctant to answer, but whispered, “Yes, IâI've heard of it.”
“What is it?”
Barnabas swallowed hard and lowered his voice even further. “It was a question asked of our Lord's brother, Yakob, just before they killed him. But IâI don't know what it is,” he said and gestured to the barn, as though saying,
Please, let's speak no more here.
Please, let's speak no more here.
Zarathan said, “I don't understand how you got the killer to talk. When I looked into his eyes, I got the impression he would rather die thanâ”
“Oh, you'd be surprised what a man will do”âKalay tucked the silver dagger into her beltâ“when you slit open his sack and start shaving off thin slices of his testicle in front of his eyes.”
Zarathan felt light-headed.
Cyrus opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, nodded, and pointed to the horses. “Let's go.”
Cyrus literally lifted Barnabas onto the back of the horse. He looked at Zarathan. “Brother, there are only two horses. You will need to ride behind Barnabas. I'll carry Kalay behind me.”
Zarathan weakly asked, “Are we stealing horses as well as torturing human beings?”
Cyrus gave him a look that froze Zarathan's heart. He had the feeling that in another place and time, Cyrus would have cut out his heart for that comment.
“I left the farmer half the drachmas we received from the sale of the
boat,” Cyrus answered. “It should be more than enough to pay for these miserable beasts.”
boat,” Cyrus answered. “It should be more than enough to pay for these miserable beasts.”
“Then why don't we leave more drachmas and take four, one for each of us?” Zarathan asked.
It was Barnabas who answered. “We may need the rest of that money, and with two horses the farmer can still work his field. Brother Cyrus made the right choice: half the money for two horses. Now, climb up behind me. We need to leave here.”
Zarathan handed up the book bag and took three tries to climb up behind Barnabas. The horse tramped and tossed its head in irritation.
“What about the killer?” Barnabas asked.
Cyrus said, “I'll take care of him.”
But as he turned back to the dilapidated barn, shouts rang out:
“Stop! Horse thieves! Stop them!”
“Stop! Horse thieves! Stop them!”
Rounding the house, three menâprobably the farmer and his sonsâwere racing across the field toward them.
Kalay said, “Cyrus, get inside and take care of him, orâ”
“There's no time.” Cyrus mounted the horse and extended a hand to help her climb on behind him. The animal almost buckled under their weight.
As Kalay slipped her arms around his waist, she said, “This is a mistake. If you let him live, he'llâ”
“Come on!” Zarathan cried. “They're coming fast!”
Cyrus kicked the horse into a fast trot, and Barnabas and Zarathan, bouncing like sacks of wheat, followed.
The crowing of a cock woke Loukas.
I'm alive ⦠.
He opened his eyes and blinked at the dilapidated barn. Through the gaps in the sagging roof, stars gleamed against an ebony background.
His naked body felt as though it were on fire. Some day, when he had the luxury of time, he would use that torture method on one of his victims. It was singularly excruciating. On the floor around him bloody handfuls of oat straw lay. Atinius had first beaten him into submission with his fists, then he'd walked to the straw bunk and pulled out a handful of the long, golden stems. When he walked back, he'd slapped Loukas across the face with the straw. It hadn't hurt at first. But after an hour the chaff in his eyes had felt like crushed glass, and the minute irregularities in the straw had left thousands of tiny cuts. Two hours later he'd felt as though he'd been flayed alive. His face hurt the worst. He'd been forced to keep his eyes closed to protect them, and his eyelids, the object of constant abuse, had swollen to twice their normal size. Every breath of wind that blew across the bloody pulp was agony.
Through it all, the magnificent woman had smiled at him. Toward the end, she'd been the interrogator. Atinius had told her what to ask, and she'd done it in a cooing voice, like a cat's purr just before it leaps for your throat. Over and over again, the same questions: “Where is Pappas Meridias? What's he looking for? Who's giving the orders?”
He'd refused to speak despite the agony. In the end, the woman had smiled seductively at him, and drawn his own knife from her belt. She'd waved it in front of his eyes with the same flair as a courtesan sensually waving a recently removed piece of clothing.
At the touch of the blade to his scrotum, he'd shrieked into his gag until his throat had gone raw.
Wait until I get my hands on you, beauty.
Just before he'd passed out, he'd seen the farmer charge into the barn, find the money Atinius had left for him, then calmly go about forking more hay to the remaining horses. The man hadn't seen Loukas lying curled in the dark corner ⦠but when morning came, he would.
Loukas tested the ropes that bound his hands and feet. Centurion Atinius was a master of knots.
As the night moved toward dawn, the sky brightened, becoming more blue than black, and Loukas saw the glint of iron on the wall near the horses.
He clenched his teeth as he dragged himself across the floor toward the stalls. The big black horse watched Loukas with jet eyes, not sure what to make of him. The smaller bay, more concerned with filling his belly, paid him no attention at all, choosing instead to eat hay.
When he reached the wall, Loukas sagged against it for a few moments, resting, before he awkwardly levered himself to his feet and hopped toward the tool hanging on a peg above the bay's shoulder. The horse shied away from him, prancing in his stall and flaring his nostrils at the scent of Loukas' blood.
Using his head, Loukas shoved the rusty sickle off the wall onto the dirt floor, then he sank down beside it. The bay went back to eating, but his gaze kept darting to Loukas.
Loukas twisted around and placed the ropes against the metal blade. Despite the discomfort, he began patiently sawing.
Then I'll be off to Alexandria.
He'd revealed more than he should have, and loathed himself for it. A shiver wracked him when he remembered the sight of that cold metal slicing through his soft pink tissue.
The Gate of Yeshua. I told them about it ⦠.
The Gate of Yeshua. I told them about it ⦠.
Loukas had first heard the phrase whispered in the deepest circles of the Militia Templi. No one knew what it meant, but it carried a strange ring of Truth. Like the “Kingdom of God,” anyone who heard “the Gate
of Yeshua” stopped for a moment. He could not say why, but the words seemed to resonate in the chambers of the heart, as though the soul heard and understood them, even if the mind did not.
of Yeshua” stopped for a moment. He could not say why, but the words seemed to resonate in the chambers of the heart, as though the soul heard and understood them, even if the mind did not.
The first strand of rope broke with a dull pop. Loukas shifted to reposition his bound hands.
He would be late for his prearranged meeting with Pappas Meridias, but Meridias depended upon him. The man could not proceed without first hearing Loukas' report.
Loukas inhaled around his gag as best he could and went back to work. While he sawed, he let his thoughts drift, but they always returned to the magnificent woman. Her ethereally beautiful face had carved its own shrine inside him.
Kalay. Her name is Kalay. Oh, you shall pay for what you did to me, beauty.
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