The Last Disciple (14 page)

Into this clear silence came the echoing clang of iron gates flung open.

Leah’s soul groaned with agony. She’d never been at the games before, but she knew what that sound meant. Her tremulous fear was proven correct when suddenly the first men and women were pushed out onto the sand. Then more. And more. Nearly two dozen in all.

No cheers.

No roars.

Only the predatory joy that came from watching the Christians stumble across the sand, dressed in the hides of zebras and antelopes.

After their long imprisonment, the sunlight was too much for them. Each, without fail, flung hands across their eyes and moved blindly. Some stood tall and sucked in clean air, as if determined to enjoy, for the last minutes of their lives, the simple luxury of sunshine against skin.

Leah saw her brother, of course. He stood the tallest, and several of the women had gathered behind him as if he could provide protection against the inevitable.

As they regained their bearings, the people began to cluster, forming a compact mass.

It was still silent, and the roars of anger that came from the bestiarius reached clearly into the stands. He was standing at one of the dark openings into the tunnels beneath the stands, yelling at the Christians.

Spectators began to murmur.

But Leah knew the reason for the rage of the bestiarius. Her brother and the men and women with him were doing the one thing that would delay a lion’s attack.

Despite the murmurs, there was still an atmosphere of expectation, the tension of it like a physical presence exerting a force on the crowd. Then came more clanking of iron bars.

The lions had been released.

The city guards reached Aristarchus, with Vitas ten paces behind, the same distance he’d kept as he followed them through Smyrna.

“Who is this?” Aristarchus demanded, pointing at Vitas.

Vitas ignored him. The slaves had stopped in front of the gates that led to the villa, and Vitas did not want them to move into the courtyard, where he would no longer be able to follow.

“Take the litter to the house,” Vitas commanded the slaves. He spoke harshly to Sophia. “And, you, ensure that the woman inside the litter is comfortable; then send for a doctor.”

Aristarchus was apparently so astounded, it took him several moments to find his voice. And when he finally did speak, he squeaked with outrage. “Those are my slaves! How dare you give them orders.”

“How rude of me,” Vitas said, smiling broadly. He’d had the entire journey here to think through his next actions. “Did I actually forget to purchase them from you first?”

“Of course you did not purchase them. Nor will I actually sell them to—”

“Fifty thousand sesterces for each slave,” Vitas said, knowing that it was triple the price Aristarchus would expect. “Except, of course, for the Jewish slave. She has already proven too stubborn and independent-minded to be of much value. Consider yourself lucky that I will take her off your hands as part of the bargain.”

Sophia sucked in a breath, but obviously decided this was not a moment to protest.

“I see clearly what you expect to accomplish,” Aristarchus said. “You want to buy your way out of trouble.”

Vitas shrugged.
“Nihil tam munitum quod non expugnari pecunia possit.”

Nothing is so well fortified that money cannot capture it.

“You are mistaken. These slaves are not for sale at any price. I intend to have you arrested and the Jewish slave beaten. By morning, the entire city will know that their treasurer is a man of decision and power.”

“Tread lightly,” Vitas warned. He pulled Aristarchus to the side and spoke softly. Already he had decided that he did not want Sophia to find him interesting because of his wealth or background. “Have you inquired into my family background? Have you any idea of my closeness to Caesar?”

Aristarchus seemed to shrink.

“Let me enlighten you,” Vitas said. “I am one of three men in Rome who report directly to Nero. My name is Gallus Sergius Vitas.”

“The name means nothing to me. You are bluffing.”

“If it’s not a bluff, you have far more to lose than I have to gain by bluffing. You decide how much of a gambler you are.”

“Regardless,” Aristarchus said, less stridently than before, “it is my right to have that baby exposed. My right to divorce my wife. My right to choose what I do with my slaves.”

“Do I understand,” Vitas began, knowing that he’d succeeded in throwing the pugnacious little man off balance, “that all of this began because your wife refused to worship Caesar?”

“Former wife,” Aristarchus stressed. “I am treasurer. As a connected man, surely you understand that my position depends on my reputation. Smyrna itself depends on the goodwill of the divine Caesar. There is no room in my household for one who belongs to the cult of Christos.”

“Ah yes,” Vitas said. “Let me ask you this: Now that you have decreed divorce, would Caesar not see it equally fitting if your wife and her baby simply departed from Smyrna?”

“My wife must be punished,” Aristarchus said. He moved away from Vitas so that he was making a public declaration. “The city and Caesar must know that I will not tolerate someone who refuses to worship the emperor. I will ask you to let Nero know of my choice, if you truly are who you say you are.”

“To punish your wife, you will kill the baby?”

“A girl. I have no desire to split the estate of my future sons with a daughter.”

“And if the girl is adopted by a patrician family of Rome?”

“Why is it that you show so much concern?” Aristarchus suddenly looked at him differently.

Vitas realized his mistake in revealing what he really wanted. “I am a man of compassion,” he said. It was time to use more leverage. “For example, because of that compassion I am trying to save you a great deal of trouble.”

“Bah!”

“This afternoon the games begin for which Smyrna is so famous. Why else am I here along with thousands of visitors?”

“I tire of your talk,” Aristarchus said.

“One of your patrons went to considerable expense to bring in a team of gladiators from Rome.” Immediately upon their arrival in Smyrna the day before, Vitas had made arrangements with the owner of the gladiators regarding Damian, so he was very familiar with the financial arrangements for this local arena.

“If my memory is correct,” Vitas said, “the
munerarius
agreed to pay fifteen thousand sesterces for each gladiator who survives tomorrow and sixty thousand for any who die.”

“What of it?” Aristarchus snapped.

“The fact that I’m in a position to know this should warn you to tread lightly in my presence.”

Silence. Vitas had hit the mark again. He continued. “Yet, as treasurer, I’m sure you are fully aware that one gladiator commanded a far higher price for his presence in Smyrna. A famous gladiator, who has not lost once in thirteen years. All through this city, his name has been included prominently on the advertisements painted on the walls.”

“Maglorius,” Aristarchus said with a touch of awe.

“The people of your city are going to be highly disappointed when he does not appear in the arena as promised.”

“What!”

“You poor man,” Vitas said. “If lucky, you may be able to prevent riots. On the other hand, when word reaches all that you were responsible for his injuries, I doubt you will remain treasurer much longer. You’ll be lucky if the mobs spare your life.”

“What!”

“They may well decide to amuse themselves by throwing you into the arena. I understand that often people live much longer than you’d expect after a lion has pulled their entrails out onto the sand.”

“What!”

“I see,” Vitas said, “that your guards neglected to inform you fully of last night’s events. The Jewish slave girl and the baby fled to Maglorius from the square at Nero’s temple. He was on his knees, unprotected, as your guards struck him with their swords.”

Aristarchus turned on the guards. “Is this true?”

“W-we fought,” one stuttered. “It was dark. How could we be expected to identify the man—?”

“So a man was on his knees when you attacked?”

“Yes, but—”

“The doctor to the gladiators spent hours in the middle of the night sewing Maglorius back together,” Vitas interrupted. “You’ll be able to confirm that easily enough. Maglorius himself and my friend and I are witnesses to the guards who attacked.”

“I am lost,” Aristarchus moaned.

“Not if all of us agree to silence,” Vitas said. “Your guards will realize the prudence in protecting you and themselves from the wrath of the mob. As for your divorced wife and these slaves here, if they are on a ship headed back to Rome by afternoon, how could they whisper a word of it to any of the good citizens of Smyrna?”

It took little time for Aristarchus to come to his decision. “Fifty thousand sesterces for each slave is a generous offer. I accept.”

“Good,” Vitas said. “Have the money here at the villa in the next hour. Any later than that and I will have difficulty departing by sunset as promised.”

“Are you mad?” Aristarchus screeched. “That was the price you offered me!”

“I
had
offered it,” Vitas said, “but I’ve changed my mind. I’ve decided that’s the price you are going to offer me.”

Vitas did not like this man. It was childish, Vitas knew, but he wanted to punish him. And if the man loved money, that’s what Vitas would take from him.

“You expect
me
to pay
you
for
my
slaves?”

“If I knew you well enough to trust you, I would consider banker’s papers for payment,” Vitas said. “But what I already know about your character tells me to insist on silver or gold.”

“You expect me to pay you for my slaves? Not a chance!”

“Ah, you wish for the negotiations to continue further.” Again, Vitas knew he was being childish to enjoy the man’s discomfort. “I have no problem with that. Sixty thousand sesterces per slave. The Jewish slave, of course, is still not worth enough to barter for.”

“Sixty thousand! Never!”

“What a shame,” Vitas said, enjoying himself and the indignant reaction of Sophia at his insult of her. “I suppose the pleasure of watching the lions rip you apart in the arena will make up for our unsuccessful negotiations. Unless you want the negotiations to continue.”

“I . . . I . . .”

“Sixty-five thousand per slave,” Vitas said. “Let’s draw this out as long as we can.”

“All right! All right! Sixty-five.”

“Well done,” Vitas said. “Send Paulina and the slaves and the litter to my ship in the harbor. You’ll have no problem identifying it, as it flies the emperor’s flag. I expect the gold and silver there within the hour.”

“Just be out of Smyrna,” Aristarchus snapped.

“Of course.” Vitas kept his face grave, hiding his sense of triumph. Mainly because he knew there was still trouble ahead.

Aristarchus was nothing compared to the outburst he fully expected to get from Sophia as soon as they were alone.

But he’d already decided he had a plan for her, too.

“Jesus was not a false prophet,” Zabad said. “I have staked my life on it.”

Caleb snorted. “Your poor judgment proves nothing except your poor judgment.” Caleb rose from his cushion and paced tight circles in front of Helius as he continued to speak to Zabad. “You have placed great emphasis on the witnesses of the miracles of Jesus and the witnesses of the Resurrection. Are we agreed then on the importance and veracity of those witnesses?”

“Without doubt,” Zabad answered. “We are still within the generation of those who witnessed Him. Only a fool would make claims that could be contradicted by other living witnesses.”

“Last night, I studied different letters about Jesus that have been circulating. I have one of the scrolls with me. A letter written by a fellow Jew named Matthew. One of Jesus’ disciples. You’ll agree that few can be a closer witness than that?”

“I agree,” Zabad said.

“So we agree that what Matthew records as statements by Jesus can be trusted.”

“We agree. Witnesses have corroborated many of the events. Witnesses still alive today.”

“I will assume then that you are familiar with the letter,” Caleb continued. “If not, you are welcome to refer to a copy of it. . . .”