The Last Disciple (31 page)

Ben-Aryeh came to consciousness in the gully off the road. Flies crawled across his face. He spat blood and sat up, wiping slowly at his face.

His donkey was gone.

Ben-Aryeh rolled to his feet and staggered out of the gully and up to a high point to look for help. The nearest caravan was at least a mile away, just beginning to ascend to Jerusalem. Ahead, another half mile away, were the gates of the walls of Jerusalem. But no one between here and there.

No one near.

He took deep breaths to regain his composure. No bones felt broken. His head throbbed, but if that was the worst of it, God had truly smiled upon him. Whatever had been stolen could easily be replaced.

But where was Olithar?

Ben-Aryeh took a step forward, then cocked his head. Had he heard correctly? Muffled sobs?

“Please . . .” It was a woman’s voice.

From behind one of the massive boulders on the opposite side of the highway, where the hills rose.

“Please . . .”

Ben-Aryeh adjusted his sandals. Then his cloak. He began to climb toward the sound. The sobbing had a heart-rending quality to it, and when he rounded the boulder, he discovered why.

The young woman was bleeding across her face. Her dark hair, loosened from a shawl, was spread over the ground where she lay. Her dress was torn.

She had curled into a ball, knees tucked into her arms. “Please . . .” Her sobs made her incoherent.

Ben-Aryeh rushed forward and threw his cloak over her. He knelt. It did not matter to him that contact with her blood defiled him and that he would now have to go through the weeklong cleansing ritual.

The woman had been beaten. Probably by the same brigands who had attacked him.

She opened her eyes as his shadow fell across her. She flinched and sobbed louder.

“My child,” he said, “I am a Sadducee. A priest of the temple. I am here to help not to harm you.”

How he wished he had water. But the leather bags were attached to his donkey. And it was gone.

She reached for him with bare arms.

“My child,” he repeated. “My child.”

She squeezed him and clutched him as he helped her to her feet, careful to make sure that his cloak covered her and let her retain her modesty.

Together, Ben-Aryeh and the injured woman tottered down the hillside and back onto the road. Their progress was so slow that the caravan behind them was much nearer now.

“We’ll wait here,” he said, pointing back at the wagons. “There should be someone with water. And you can rest as one of the wagons takes you the remaining distance into the city.”

“No! Please no!”

“My child . . .”

“Is it bad enough that you, a total stranger, must see my shame? How many men will there be in that caravan? Merchants to enjoy my loss of innocence.”

“But—”

“I can walk. Help me. In the city I have friends. Just take me to the city gates.”

She clung to him, begging until he consented then, holding his cloak, took her first limping steps toward the gate.

“I will get stronger,” she said. “I promise.”

The Ninth Hour

“This is absolutely unacceptable.” Ben-Aryeh’s assistant, Olithar, spoke to Queen Bernice. “Ben-Aryeh’s arrangement with you was total discretion. By sending a messenger to the temple for me, you risk that secrecy, and you also put me in a bad light.”

Vitas sat on a nearby cushion, squirming with impatience. While he had reached the public courtyard of the royal palace a half hour earlier, he’d only just been escorted to this inner chamber. Vitas badly wanted to press Bernice for an escort of men to help him search for Sophia.

They’d barely had time to appraise each other—this after months of correspondence—when Olithar had arrived.

Upon entering the room, Olithar had given Vitas only a quick glance. Again, the fact that Vitas was dressed simply had served him well. There’d been no flicker of recognition, which meant that earlier when Vitas had passed Olithar on the road to Jerusalem, he had not appeared important or unusual enough for the assistant to give him a second glance.

Here, too, Olithar must have decided that Vitas was a servant of some kind, because he ignored Vitas completely.

“Ben-Aryeh’s arrangement with me,” Bernice snapped, “as you well know, means that Ben-Aryeh provides help when I need it. I do not need to justify my request to him, let alone to you.”

Arrangement? Vitas wondered, not for the first time, what it was that had obligated a proud man like Ben-Aryeh to wait in Sebaste for his arrival.

“Furthermore,” Bernice snapped, “I did not send for you. I sent for Ben-Aryeh. Where is he, if not at the temple?”

Olithar shrugged. “How am I supposed to know? He went to Sebaste days ago.”

Vitas was glad that Olithar’s back was to him. That meant Olithar did not see his reaction to what was obviously a lie. It had been two hours since Vitas had left Ben-Aryeh with Olithar just outside the city, as Vitas had recently informed Bernice. Time enough for Ben-Aryeh to make it to the temple. Especially if Olithar had done so. And here, Olithar was pretending he hadn’t seen Ben-Aryeh at all.

Vitas, however, said nothing to contradict the assistant.

“Listen to the screams that reach us even here,” Bernice continued in a commanding tone. “What led to this? What happened when the chief priests and leaders met with Florus? What caused Florus to send out his soldiers? I can’t send him a message until I know.”

Vitas remained motionless. Invisible to the two of them.

“I wasn’t there,” Olithar said.

“Are the priests gathered in the safety of the temple?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m sure you’ve heard. Tell me now.”

Olithar shrugged. “Florus was in no mood for discussion. When the chief priests and leaders arrived, he gave orders that those who insulted him be handed over. Immediately.”

“Ananias? What did he say?”

“From what I understand, he began a long flowery speech describing the hotheads as youths at an age when all men make impetuous choices. It sounded rehearsed. He went on to say that even he and Florus had probably done things they regretted later. It was obvious to all of us that the speech had no effect on Florus except to make him angrier, but Ananias spoke as if he were in love with his own voice. When he suggested to Florus—not requested—that it would be fair to pardon the hotheads, Florus exploded. He sent for his centurions and, in front of all the chief priests and leaders, ordered them to take their soldiers and plunder the market and kill anybody in sight and not to stop until they heard further orders from him.”

“My worst fears . . .” Bernice closed her eyes and shook her head. Then made her decision. “You will deliver the message to Florus for me. Wait for his reply and bring it back to me immediately.”

“No,” Olithar said.

“No? Our people are dying!”

“I want to help,” he answered. “But this is not the way. Florus is already incensed at the temple priests. He may not even give me an audience, and if he did, his anger would only increase if he thought I was trying to stop his orders.”

“It must be done!” Bernice was frantic. “Take the risk!”

“A lowly assistant going behind the high priest’s back to the procurator of Judea? My days in the temple would be over. I would be useless to you and Ben-Aryeh.”

Bernice paced back and forth. Finally, she knelt. She untied her sandals. She rose and tossed them to the side. “Get me a sackcloth and ashes,” Bernice said grimly to a nearby servant. “I will go to him myself in bare feet, and certainly he will listen to my supplication.”

“You cannot go!” Olithar said.

“Who else can?” Bernice asked. She spoke to the servant again. “Send for a horse for me.”

Maglorius and Valeria reached the next intersection, an even smaller alley, cloaked completely in shadow. Here were the residences of the lower city. Grimy walls, crooked doorways.

Sophia led them.

“Where are you taking us?” Valeria asked.

Sophia spoke quietly, almost shyly. “I have a friend who will help us. She is a . . .”

Sophia glanced at Maglorius. He nodded.

“She is a follower of Jesus,” Sophia said. She turned forward again, leading them farther into the narrow alley.

Valeria had heard vague rumors about this new religion. She didn’t get a chance to ask Maglorius about it.

“This I must tell you about Lucius . . . ,” Maglorius said, speaking carefully as he guided her behind Sophia.

Valeria found it odd that Maglorius referred to her father with the intimacy of her father’s praenomen, but she didn’t interrupt.

“Although he is wealthy, he is filled with sorrow. He has been denied what he truly wants in life.”

The shouting and screaming behind them grew louder.

“My father has no strong desires,” Valeria said. “Except for more money.”

“You know nothing about your father,” Maglorius said.

The sound of confusion behind them was a distraction to Valeria. “How can you say that? I’ve grown up in his household.”

“Lucius has been betrayed repeatedly during his life,” Maglorius said. “It is enough to make anyone a tired, dusty old man. I can only imagine his disappointments, living with the results of that betrayal yet taking responsibility for those who depended on him, despite his legal right to spurn that responsibility.”

Again, the reference to her father by his praenomen. How strange. “Maglorius, you speak in circles. What responsibilities could you mean?”

“I am as much to blame as anyone,” Maglorius said. “In my defense I can only say it happened before I met the Christos. Since then, I have taken steps to change what I can about the life of deception. . . .”

“The Christos? You, too, are a follower?”

A peaceful smile crossed the ex-gladiator’s face as he nodded.

Valeria once again became aware of the screams. She glanced around. “The soldiers?”

“This morning the Jews sent a delegation to Gessius Florus, imploring forgiveness for the actions of a few rash young men. He did not give it to them. Florus is determined to stir up a revolt.”

“You seem to know a lot about the politics of Judea. Both Jewish and Roman.”

“It is my duty.”

“I thought your duty was to protect us.”

“Which is why I must be aware of the politics. Florus is an enemy of your family, for your father, Lucius, knows too much about the abuses Florus heaps on the Jews. And Florus is desperate to keep reports of this from Caesar. Lucius is respected in Rome and would be a credible witness against Florus.”

They had not stopped moving. Valeria was completely lost in the twisted streets of the lower city. “You are telling me much more than I have ever heard from you,” she said.

“Events force me. Just as I feel I must tell you the truth about Lucius and my part in his betrayal. Instead of these events, I wish that you were on a ship going to Rome.”

Maglorius let the distance between them and Sophia lengthen. He spoke softly, to keep their conversation private. Valeria did the same.

“You wish for me to be married against my will?” Valeria had a wild impulse to take his hand, confess her emotions, and hope Maglorius would take her away from the arranged marriage.

“I wish for you to be safe,” he answered.

Sophia stopped without warning and rapped on the door in front of her. She knocked in an odd sequence, and moments later the door opened. Sophia spoke to the person who answered in low, urgent tones. The door opened wider. Sophia beckoned, and Valeria and Maglorius followed her inside.

Even after the dim light of the alley, it took Valeria a few moments to adjust to the even dimmer light inside the house. The few pieces of furniture in it were made of rough wood.

A woman, perhaps only a few years older than Valeria, shut the door behind them. This woman’s belly was swollen with pregnancy.

To Valeria and Maglorius, Sophia said, “This is Sarai. She is a follower of the Christos. You can trust her and her husband, for he, too, is a follower.”

Maglorius let out a long breath of relief. “I’m going back to get Quintus and Sabinus now. Please wait here.”

Confused, Valeria wanted to deny the fear around her. “This is ridiculous. We do not need protection. Take me home.” She turned to Sarai and half bowed. “Thank you for your offer, but it won’t be necessary.”

Maglorius squeezed Valeria’s shoulder. “Your family is in danger. Don’t you understand? Because of the events of the last weeks, Florus has sent his soldiers into the upper market to slaughter innocent Jews.”

“My family is Roman. They are safe.”

“I don’t believe it is a coincidence that Florus sent soldiers to the upper market as well as to the rest of the city. Your family’s mansion is nearby. I believe the soldiers will attack it.”

“Why?” The conversation seemed surreal to her.

“No family will be safe. Especially if some, like yours, have been marked by Florus for the silence that will come with their deaths.”

“How do you know this?”

“I know.”

“Are you suggesting that Roman soldiers will be instructed to kill my parents? instructed by a Roman procurator?”