The Last Disciple (29 page)

Here, Sophia was employed by an absentee owner of one of the largest leather warehouses. As an unmarried woman with no family, she had few other choices in employment.

She was draped in a sheep hide when Maglorius came into sight from behind the vats of tannin; she was glad for the excuse to set it down.

Although he’d never come to this quarter to visit, she smiled at his unexpected arrival.

Maglorius had become a good friend over the previous months. Daily, she thanked God for that friendship and how He had arranged for them to meet. Most surely it had not been coincidence. Maglorius was an ex-gladiator, and she was a freed slave, each born in different parts of the world. Yet, after the ship’s journey from Smyrna to Rome where they had first met, here he was in Jerusalem. And to think that they had literally bumped into each other in the crowded market. God worked in wonderful ways.

“Come with me,” Maglorius said without his usual welcoming smile. “Immediately.”

There were dozens of other workers around her, most of them older or maimed in some way; those who had the ability to work anywhere else did not lower themselves to employment here.

“I cannot,” she said, gesturing around her. “I—”

Maglorius surprised her. He stepped forward quickly and took her elbow.

She winced. “What are you—”

“Listen to me,” he said in a low, confidential voice. “I have very little time. Come with me now.”

His actions had drawn the attention of others, who began whispering. Sophia was embarrassed. Maglorius was an attractive man and she was a single woman. The conclusions they would draw were quite natural.

“I’ll follow you to the street where we can talk,” she said in an equally low voice. “But you are hurting my arm.”

He eased the grip but did not entirely let go, and he guided her away from the vats and the other workers. When they reached the narrow street, he did not stop as she expected but continued to lead her toward the city.

“No,” she said and shook her arm loose. “What has come over you?”

“I will explain, but I have to get to the market. With you.”

“Not a single step until I hear more,” Sophia said. “You know how stubborn I am.”

“I do,” he said.

He picked her up and threw her over his right shoulder, her legs draped over his chest, her hair hanging straight down over her face, giving her a view of his sandaled heels and the packed dirt of the street.

She screamed.

Several nearby people glanced at them.

“Disobedient wife,” Maglorius yelled. “Sometimes one has no choice.”

The men nodded with understanding, and Maglorius marched ahead.

“Maglorius!” Sophia shouted. “Have you lost your mind?”

He ignored her.

She flailed her arms, and her hand hit the hilt of his sword. She grabbed it, pulled it loose in a swift move. “Stop,” she said, “or I’ll cut you open.”

That was effective.

He stopped, set her down, and with blinding swiftness, grabbed the wrist of her sword hand. She pulled but didn’t even move his arm.

“Florus is about to send soldiers through the city,” Maglorius said, his face set with determination. “They will have orders to kill any citizens in sight.”

“How do you know this?” By his unblinking stare, she knew he believed he was telling the truth. “Florus would never—”

“Yes, he would. Come with me. Now. Valeria is in the market and I must get her next.”

“But if that is true, these people here . . .”

Maglorius spun away from her. He stepped close to an old man who had been watching them through rheumy eyes. “Citizen,” he said, “go through this quarter and warn others to find a place to hide. Soldiers are on their way.”

The man’s eyes widened. He smacked his gums several times, then tottered off toward the men down the road who were loading a cart with finished hides.

Moments later, Maglorius was back with Sophia. “He may tell them; he may not,” he said. “I’ve been giving the same warning as often as possible on my way here, and most people laugh at me.”

“Soldiers . . . ,” Sophia said. “Not in Jerusalem.”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been told. But it is going to happen. Soon.”

When he took her arm, she did not protest. If something had happened that affected Maglorius in this way, she would be foolish not to listen.

“I need to make a confession to you,” Maglorius said as they walked up the slight incline toward the city walls. “If I don’t survive the next days, and if Vitas doesn’t make it into the city or find you, then—”

“Vitas!”

If daily she thanked God for her friendship with Maglorius, twice daily she asked her Father to watch over Vitas, even convinced as she was that when she’d refused to stay in Rome with him, she’d lost him forever.

“Walk faster,” Maglorius urged.

“Vitas?!”

He sighed. “It was not an accident that I met you in the market. I’d been searching for you. Myself. And through others.”

“Searching for me?”

“We have so little time. Interruptions make this more difficult.”

They reached the Ephraim Gate, with the temple towering above them. Three young men loitered at the gate, eyeing Sophia.

Maglorius moved toward them, and they watched him with insolence in their stances.

“Here’s your chance to be heroes,” Maglorius said. “When you hear the disturbance in the city, make sure the gate cannot be shut so people can flee into this quarter.”

All three laughed.

“At least wait nearby,” he said over his shoulder as he headed back to Sophia. “You’ll see.”

They laughed scornfully again. But, as Sophia noticed, they remained where they were. This was the effect Maglorius could have on people.

“Vitas?” Sophia asked. “You must tell me.”

“I’ve been in correspondence with Vitas. Under strict orders not to let you know of it. He asked me to find you and arrange for your continued safety.”

They were hurrying up the narrow street that would take them to the heart of the city. To the crowded marketplace.

“You are not my friend, then,” Sophia said slowly, trying to grasp this. She’d been in Jerusalem half a year. “Not a friend but a bodyguard.”

“Others have been your bodyguards. I have been your friend almost from the beginning.”

In anger, Sophia stopped walking. “Others? Spying on me?”

He turned to her. “Two weeks ago, that man who attacked you near dusk as you were on your way to a meeting of the followers. And the two others who stopped him.”

“They were spying on me?”

“For your protection,” Maglorius said. “As part of my pledge to Vitas. Please, we need to get to the market.”

“No.”

“Valeria is there. I can’t choose between the two of you. I can’t leave you behind and help her, or abandon her to be with you.”

At the anguish easy to read on his face, Sophia relented. But she was furious. “You are telling me that Vitas hired you to—”

“I owe Vitas a debt of gratitude. I would never work for a Roman. Ever.”

“You are employed in the Bellator household,” Sophia blurted out. Immediately she felt irritated with herself. Why was she arguing with Maglorius about something that trivial?

“No,” he said gently. “I’m there because of my son.”

That was as perplexing to Sophia as anything else he’d said. “You’re not married,” she began slowly. “You . . .” She stopped herself, suddenly comprehending.

“It’s changed,” Maglorius said quickly. “You should know that. I ended what was wrong and deceitful. Since you helped me become a believer.”

“So that’s not a pretense? The time you spend in worship with us? Your belief in the Resurrection?”

“I found you at the request of Vitas. Once I had arranged for your protection, I was under no obligation to spend time with you. I did it freely. In fact, I’m sure Vitas would have preferred that you not know of my presence in Jerusalem.”

Making it all the more difficult for Sophia to grasp was the urgency of pace that Maglorius forced upon them. She wanted time to sit down—alone—and absorb it all and reflect on what it meant.

Vitas? Coming to Jerusalem? Arranging for her protection?

Maglorius? With a son in the Bellator household? How did he know about Florus and the soldiers? What did he owe to Vitas?

She settled on one question first. “Vitas, when will he arrive in Jerusalem?”

“If a messenger found him in Caesarea before Florus did, and if Vitas went to Sebaste as Bernice requested . . .”

“Bernice? Queen Bernice? Why would—?”

“Judea is far from Rome,” Maglorius said impatiently. “Vitas offers her political favors there for her help here. It’s the way of the world.”

“And Vitas then will be here . . .”

“I expect his arrival in the next couple of days. He wanted to find you himself. But Florus and the army changed everything. Vitas may get here soon. Or later. I can’t say. As for you, once I get you to the royal palace, you’ll be safe. Vitas can find you there when he finally arrives.”

She was slowing down to try to comprehend this new information. In the royal palace?

He took her by the arm again. “Please,” he said, “don’t make me ask again. Hurry!”

When the brigands attacked from the gully in the dip of the road, it took Ben-Aryeh several seconds to comprehend the source of the screaming and motion. Part of the screaming came from Olithar, his assistant, who was already running from the road into the hills above it.

Ben-Aryeh saw four men, all brandishing curved swords, running forward from huge boulders that clung to the hillside above the highway.

Brigands!

Here, almost within the shadows of the walls of Jerusalem, it verged on preposterous that brigands had so boldly attacked.

Yet there was no denying it was actually happening.

Ben-Aryeh leaned forward on the donkey, clutching the beast’s neck. It brayed as he kicked it forward. He hoped to burst through the wall of brigands.

But failed. The donkey spun sideways, and Ben-Aryeh hit the ground hard and groaned from the pain of smashing his ribs into a round stone.

The brigands moved forward and gathered around him.

Ben-Aryeh stared upward as one of the men swung a club at his head.

The Eighth Hour

Vitas found himself outside the city again.

On the final stretch of the road to Jerusalem, from the top of the Mount of Olives, he had been awed at the magnificence of the temple, its golden burnished dome so bright with reflected sunlight that he’d been forced to look away.

From the temple, he had turned his gaze to the magnificent mansions beyond it, glimpsing the deep green foliage of the private gardens. And the walls of the city! Massive, perched on the edge of the sharply dropping cliffs. It truly seemed like a city that might house the God of Israel. Yes, he had thought, even with his anxiousness to get inside and begin searching for Sophia, Jerusalem truly was the eighth wonder of the world. He’d read about it, heard about it, but had not been able to remotely comprehend its glory until finally seeing it.

He’d walked through the gates, been forced to take a wide detour around the temple, and, asking directions again and again, had finally found his way through the labyrinth of streets to Ephraim Gate.

And stepped back outside the walls.

Just like that, all the wealth and luxury were gone; ahead were huts and hovels on freshly packed dirt streets. And the smell.

Vitas grimaced.

Not from distaste but from remembered horror.

There was too much in the air that reminded him of his time in Britannia, of torched wagons, of corpses of horses and humans, of headless bodies hung from posts as an unsuccessful deterrent to other tribesmen.

He closed his eyes and endured the stab of remorse that came with any reminder of those days in Britannia.

Even this close to Sophia, he could not escape it.

The moment passed, and Vitas stepped forward, sidestepping dung from oxen that pulled carts loaded with hides. Here in the leather district, no taxes were paid for someone to tend to the cleanliness of the streets.

Vitas left Ephraim Gate behind and moved farther into the near slums of this quarter.

This was where Sophia had chosen to live and work? This was what she’d found after refusing to stay in Rome? What was it that drove her to it? Yes, she’d explained her faith in the man crucified by Pilate, but as much as Vitas had tried to understand, he found it was impossible.

The squalor here made it even more difficult to understand.

As he strode forward, an ironic grin crossed his face. Sophia had explained that following her faith meant reaching out to the sick and the poor. Here, most certainly, was the place to find them.

With each step, Vitas became both more certain and more uncertain. More certain that he’d made the right decision to leave Rome and look for her. More uncertain as to what her response might be. After all, she’d rejected him once already.

He could only hope that she would see him with new eyes once she realized he had been willing to travel halfway across the world to see her again.

And there was something else. Something that Ben-Aryeh or Bernice never would have believed.