The Last Disciple (12 page)

“Titus,” Damian said, “more wine!”

Damian took the wineskin that Titus offered, tilted it, and drank deeply. “Yes, it will see the end of my life. Let me assure you, brother, I am a pitiful gladiator. Bet against me so that at least you will profit from my lack of skill. But save some money for the funeral, for my recent fortune has been spent on my own villa and these women.”

“Didn’t you tell him that either, Titus?” Vitas asked.

Titus gulped from the other wineskin, then gave Vitas a crooked smile as some wine dribbled down his chin. “Not a chance. I don’t know where he got the money that he spent on wine and women to celebrate his last hours alive, but I have no intention of ending the fun too early.”

Titus pointed at the women. “I mean, look. Would you want to send them away? They’ve promised to remain as long as we want.”

They leered. One moved to Vitas and pushed him onto some cushions.

“As a matter of fact,” Vitas began, trying to stand up. “I’m going to insist that—”

She pushed Vitas down again and forced herself onto his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tried to kiss his ear.

“Hey, hey, stop that. Let him speak.” Damian squinted. “What do you know about the arena that I don’t?”

“Drink more wine,” Titus encouraged Damian. “There is plenty of time to tell you later.”

“Later I die in the arena,” Damian said. He shrugged. “Perhaps getting more drunk isn’t a bad idea. With luck, I won’t even see the sword that kills me.”

Titus winked at Vitas. “Come on, my friend. Listen to your brother and set aside your stoic front. Eat, drink, and be merry.”

The woman in Vitas’s lap began kissing his ear again as one of her friends wrapped an arm around Titus’s waist.

Vitas looked up to see Sophia in the open doorway. Wordlessly, she marched past him to the room with the wet nurse.

“Sophia!” Vitas struggled to get to his feet, but the cushion was deep and soft and the woman on top of him too heavy, so he couldn’t get the necessary leverage.

Moments later, Sophia emerged with the wet nurse, a heavy woman holding the baby.

“Wait!” Vitas pleaded.

Sophia gave him a look of burning scorn and ignored him as she stepped into the courtyard.

Vitas finally pushed the blonde-wigged woman onto the floor. He hurried past Titus and Damian, who stared at him with openmouthed amazement.

He dashed through the doorway and chased Sophia and the wet nurse and baby down the steps that led to the street. “Wait!” he called out again. “It’s not as it appears.”

This morning in a room of the imperial palace, Helius surveyed the three other men with a measure of satisfaction.

One was a slave, ready with stylus to record the debate as if it were a legal trial. The man was gap-toothed and short and squat. Helius found the man’s thick eyebrows disgusting. He’d chosen the slave for two reasons. The man was definitely excellent at transcribing conversations. He was also a man whom Helius found offensively ugly. Since Helius and Tigellinus had agreed that they did not want any person alive to pass on what happened in the room this morning, Helius had decided it would be efficient—if a slave must be executed—to ensure that the world has one less ugly person. Not even Vitas would learn what happened.

The second man was Caleb, who’d requested the help of slaves to groom him before this event. This was something that Helius found commendable, of course, and the man’s obvious intelligence and good manners gave Helius some regret, given what he intended for the man’s fate.

The third man was named Zabad. He was also a Jew, one with surprisingly red hair and beard. He was in his midthirties. Like Caleb, Zabad was a respected rabbi. With one difference.

Zabad had become a follower of the Christos. He and his family—a wife and two daughters under the age of six—had been arrested. His family was in prison this very moment. Helius had promised Zabad that if he successfully argued the divinity of the Christos, Helius would end the persecution on the grounds that it was not seditious to proclaim another person divine, like Caesar, if that other person was truly divine.

Helius, of course, had lied.

He hoped that Caleb would be persuasive. If so, Helius would proudly bring Nero the transcript and set the emperor’s mind at ease, ridding Nero of his insecurity because of the Christians’ determination to die rather than give up their faith in the Christos.

On the other hand, if Caleb did a poor job, Helius had no intention of letting Nero even know this debate had occurred.

Yes, it was a politically astute move, and as the two Jews in front of him sat opposite each other on cushions, Helius congratulated himself on his brilliance.

Was it any surprise, he asked himself, that he was the second-most powerful person in the empire?

In the amphitheater, the doomed slave darted into the melee between the bear and the bull. He bounced off the side of the bull as it spun to attack the bear. This met the lusty approval of the drunken spectators around Leah.

She bowed her head and closed her eyes. But curiosity overcame her when the shouts of approval reached a new level.

The bear had fallen, and the bull was too exhausted to do much more than push it along the sand.

The condemned man took this opportunity to reach in with his pole and snap loose the shackle at the collar of the bull’s neck. The chain fell loose.

The man backed away, glancing in all directions for the guards who had forced him forward.

They were gone.

The arena was empty.

Except for the bull and the bear and the man who had freed them.

Seconds later, the bull realized it was free. Its monstrous head swung in the direction of the man stepping backward.

The bear had recovered too and was rising to its feet.

Both animals had found a new focus for their rage.

The man fled but, like a mouse in a bowl, had no place to go. He reached the walls at the edge of the sand and tried to scrabble upward, but he could not get any grip. At the last second, he dodged sideways, and the charging bull hit the wall with a tremendous thud.

A spectator had been leaning over the wall to taunt the condemned man, and the force of the bull’s blow shook him off the wall and down onto the sand. At this, the crowd’s shouting grew even more enthusiastic.

A new victim! What an unexpected delight!

Now the bear was approaching.

Both men ran in different directions.

Leah could not watch any longer. Again, she bowed her head. Beer sloshed onto her back, but she ignored it.

The minutes seemed endless, but finally the crowd noise died again.

She looked up briefly and saw slaves dragging the bodies of both men away. Archers stepped onto the sand to kill the animals. Spectators around her began to open baskets of food.

Leah had told herself that she would be strong and brave, but the apathy of those around her to the life-and-death struggles before them broke past the barrier she’d tried to erect against her emotions.

She wept silently, very conscious of the red scarf that she had folded and hidden beneath her dress. Too soon, she would have to wave it at her brother down below on the same sand.

And too soon, it would cause a horror far worse than what she had just witnessed.

On the steps at the street below the villa, Sophia felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see Vitas.

“Let me explain,” he said.

She felt instant anger at the handsomeness of his face. What a façade. He was like all other Roman men, only interested in physical pleasures. She’d been a fool to convince herself otherwise during the night, a fool to believe he was a noble man with pure intentions, a fool to think that a man of his wealth would be interested in a slave like her for any other reason than he might want a prostitute.

“I have no wish to talk to you,” she said. Whatever problems waited in the future she would deal with herself. She would no longer hope for rescue from a man such as this. All women probably swooned over him, and it was obvious he used them as playthings.

“Please,” Vitas said. He reached across and touched her shoulder.

She knew he was no hero, and her anger at deceiving herself earlier about him boiled over to an unthinking reaction. She’d spent the night dreaming about him, and he’d spent the night in the company of a prostitute. She slapped him hard across the face. “Good-bye.”

She marched forward toward the street, where four large slaves were holding the poles of a litter that was draped closed. She heard laughter behind her, and that startled her into turning around.

Vitas rubbed his smarting cheek. “Thank you,” he said, still laughing.

“Thank you?”

“I can see no other reason for your anger than jealousy.”

“Hardly.” She kept her voice icy.

“Wouldn’t you expect a Roman to be entertained as it appeared I was?”

“What you do is none of my business.” More ice.

“Then why your anger?”

“Because . . .” She paused. He was right. What business was it of hers that a Roman spent the night with a prostitute? Unless, as he was trying to imply, she did care about him. Which was nothing she would admit. She spoke more strongly. “Because of my concern for my friend’s baby. Who knows what activities were about to take place in there?”

“My friend and brother had just arrived. With those women. I was trying to get them to leave when you appeared. Please believe me.”

She shrugged. She refused to give this man the satisfaction of knowing she’d had any romantic intentions. What did it matter anyway? She was going to serve Paulina and help with the baby girl; he was going back to Rome.

“I thought you were a slave,” he blurted.

“If it makes you feel better to diminish me, go ahead. But that says more about you than it does about me.”

He pointed at the litter, almost stuttering as he tried to justify the statement. “You told me you were a servant slave in the household of Aristarchus. Is this how you normally travel?”

Sophia kept her voice cool. “Paulina is in there. She is not well. Aristarchus has already proclaimed a divorce and sent her away from the household, and she could only turn to me to find a place to stay. Until I saw you with your women, I had hoped that—”

“Not my women,” Vitas said. “And I’ll have them sent away.”

This man was trouble. She wanted to be away from him, yet wanted him to stay near. She challenged him, finding herself enjoying it. “Why would they listen if they aren’t your women?”

“Because . . . because . . .”

Yes, it was enjoyable watching this strong and confident man become uncertain. As if perhaps he, too, shared her feelings. Sophia reminded herself not to begin dreaming again.

“Please,” he said, “let me help you.”

“You have your life,” she said. “I have mine.”

“Have the servants bring your friend inside,” he said. “We’ll send for a doctor.”

Before she could find a good reason to disagree, a half dozen armed men came into sight from the crest of the hill.

City guards!

Before she could react, Vitas boldly stepped in front of the litter, waiting for the approach of the guards. He braced his legs and crossed his arms.