The Last Disciple (5 page)

Helius forced his mind away from consequences. He was too familiar with the horrible ways that men and women who displeased Nero met their deaths.

Helius sighed, as if the issue of the scroll was a mere irritation. “As I said, I am busy. Have Tigellinus deal with this matter.”

Obviously conscious of the whipping that Tigellinus had promised, the slave persisted. “He instructed me that you must read the scroll.”

“I am very occupied.” Helius needed to pretend that nothing about the scroll interested him. He paused, as if coming to a sudden thought. “You read it to me.”

“Of course,” the slave said.

“Wait. Are the contents of the scroll written in Greek? or Latin?”

“Greek,” the slave answered as he unwound it. “Like the back of the scroll.”

“Are you calling me stupid?” Helius said. His bad mood had worsened the instant he’d seen the single Greek word. Yes, the next weeks would be hellish if Nero discovered this.

“No, I—”

“I saw the back of the scroll. Telling me it is in Greek too is like telling me you think I’m too stupid to read Greek.”

“I apologize,” the slave said, dropping to his knees and bowing.

This humiliation pleased Helius. He hated ugliness.

The teenage boy giggled at the slave’s apology. Since the boy was attractive, Helius decided not to reprimand him. “Go on, then,” Helius told the old slave. “Read me this letter as Tigellinus has insisted.”

In Smyrna, less than a half mile from the tavern where Vitas and Titus were about to brawl, a man named Aristarchus heard screams on the other side of the blanket hung over the arch leading to the inner courtyard. With a fist already clenched, he punched the blanket, shook it off as it wrapped around his arm, and let it fall behind him onto the mosaic floor.

Marching through the arch, he ignored the views afforded by the courtyard’s windows. To the west lay Smyrna’s port and the sea beyond, while the hilltops stretched to the azure sky in the east. He had long taken his wealth and the palatial estate for granted, and this day was no exception.

He stalked toward the center of the courtyard, stepping into the long shadow that his body cast in the late afternoon. Directly ahead, a midwife and three other women were focused on his wife, Paulina, and did not notice Aristarchus until he was a few paces away. Their momentary shock at his breach of tradition nearly allowed him to reach Paulina, crouched on the birthing chair behind them. Paulina seemed unaware of his presence as she shut her eyes and screamed again, fighting the intense pain of a prolonged contraction.

“Move aside,” he barked. But for the depth of his anger, his manner of expression would have been comical, for he was a small man with a high-pitched voice.

“How dare you!” the midwife said, breaking out of her brief frozen shock. “Out!” She grabbed his arm and spun him back toward the archway.

Normally, she would have prevailed. She was a large, wide woman and by nature, bad-tempered.

Aristarchus, on the other hand, had become
tamias
, “treasurer,” of the town council of Smyrna, through cultivated deviousness, and rarely engaged in open confrontations. Today, however, his anger overpowered his instinctive political nature. He stiff-armed the midwife’s belly with the hand he had not yet unclenched. As she staggered back, he twisted loose and turned on the three other women, Paulina’s sisters, who had formed a protective half circle in front of Paulina.

Paulina gasped in relief when the contraction passed. The exertion had flushed her face and drenched it with sweat.

“Stand aside,” he ordered. “I will speak with my wife.”

The three women, dark-haired and dusky-skinned like their sister, all wore identical frowns.

“Leave,” the eldest said. She’d never respected Aristarchus and had no compunction about showing her scorn now. “Men have no part in this. Ever.”

Aristarchus opened his fist and dangled from his fingers a thin silver chain. A small silver cross hung at the end. “She will answer me this. I demand to know if what I’ve just heard is true.”

“My sister,” the eldest said, teeth clenched, “has been in difficult labor since last night. Wait until tomorrow. Better yet, wait until she has fully recovered. This is her time for a child not for an argument.”

Paulina moaned as a new contraction gained strength.

The midwife rushed to her and mopped the sweat from her brow. With surprising gentleness, the midwife murmured, “One more contraction is one closer to bringing you a beautiful baby. Don’t be afraid to push, my child.”

Aristarchus opened his mouth to argue, but as Paulina began to scream again, he realized his efforts would be wasted.

When the contraction finally passed, he did not hesitate to continue. “Is she part of this cult?” he demanded, shaking the chain and the cross. “Is she one who shares the blood?”

The sisters closed ranks, and Aristarchus shoved them aside to shout into Paulina’s face. “Are you? Is what I’ve discovered today about your secret faith true?”

Paulina was panting, exhausted, yet the light in her eyes was strong. “I am,” she said simply.

“That Jew slave servant of yours, Sophia—she has corrupted you, hasn’t she?”

“By leading me to the living Christos she has led me to a great peace. She—”

“She will no longer be part of this household. Now renounce Christos. Here and now in front of witnesses. It is not too late to save my reputation and the position that supports your family. Renounce your faith!”

Paulina’s face tightened. “I cannot,” she whispered. “The Christos is my Savior.”

“No! I preside at a temple where Nero is worshiped as almighty savior. Do you want to destroy my livelihood?”

Paulina could not answer as the contraction overwhelmed her. While he continued to screech at her, she began to moan.

“You’re one of them, are you?” At the main gates of the amphitheater, a short guard with a powerful build leered at Leah. “You don’t look it, but I’ve learned never to judge by appearances.”

“One of them?” Leah asked. She could not guess at what the guard meant by “appearances.” Leah was young, just at the age of marriage. She’d dressed plainly, covering most of her long dark hair. She knew men looked at her with desire but never felt that she was attractive enough to deserve their attention.

“Don’t play stupid with me. You love to see their fear, don’t you?” The guard took from her the bribe he had demanded earlier and jabbed a thumb in the direction of the chaos behind him.

On the ground level of the amphitheater, twenty or thirty people jostled toward the opening where prisoners were forced out onto the sand. The sunlight pierced the opening and clearly showed the lustful joy on the men and women jeering at a new group of men passing by on their way to death.

One of them.

Leah could not comprehend why the Romans enjoyed the death cries rising from the arena let alone understand the pleasure Nero himself took in all his public perversion and his imaginative manners of torture. A Jew born in Rome—the Jewish community was strong and large and vibrant—Leah had managed to avoid even being near any of the games that took place when politicians needed to placate the mobs with entertainment.

One of them.

Those in the small crowd ahead taunted the prisoners. Some—both men and women—reached out to grab them indecently.

“Take care you don’t end up in the arena,” the guard laughed, a sound more like a bark than anything. “At the last games, half a dozen spectators found themselves out on the sand. They died as quick as the condemned. What a spectacle that was!”

Leah hurried away and tried to shut out the sounds and sights of the guards using spears to prod the condemned forward. She left behind the opening of sunlight and the rumble of cheering, and she followed the tunnels deeper beneath the stands, down into a damp darkness lit by torches.

The tension facing Vitas in the tavern grew as the four thugs approached.

“I say pretty boy cries for his mama first,” one man called out, pointing at Titus. “And I’ll put money on it.”

“A simple yes or no is all I need,” Vitas said, his voice loud but calm. “Have any of you seen Damian tonight? Help me and I’ll gladly buy drinks for all.”

That drew cheers but didn’t stop the forward movement of the four thugs, though the spacing of the rough wooden tables made their approach difficult. As the first one neared, Titus smiled politely, then stepped forward and kicked him in the groin.

The large man fell to his knees, his body temporarily blocking the path of the other three. Seconds later, the man on his knees retched.

“Isn’t it wonderful to go out on the town and get drunk?” Titus said pleasantly to the fallen man.

Two of the other men roared and leaped over the fallen man in an attempt to tackle Titus. He stepped behind Vitas, then onto one table and onto the next.

“Excuse me,” Titus said to the patrons at each table, who were too stunned to react. “Excuse me again. And again.”

Hopping from tabletop to tabletop, Titus was on the opposite side of the tavern in moments, leaving Vitas to deal with the large drunks.

Despite the beer they had consumed, the men were sober enough to appreciate the short sword that Vitas held in front of him, a sword he had drawn from beneath his tunic with such amazing quickness that it seemed he’d been standing on guard with it the entire time.

“Gallus Damian,” Vitas said. “Surely you know him. I was told this is where many of the gladiators entertain themselves the night before the games.”

“And who is asking?” This voice came from a man seated alone. All the other tables were crowded beyond capacity, but this man had his entire table to himself.

A low murmur went through the crowd in reaction to his question.

The man rose slowly. Moved toward Vitas.

The drunks fell backward trying to get away, dragging their stunned companion with them. Other spectators parted with reverent fear and made room for the new man.

The man repeated his question to Vitas. “Tell me, who is asking about Damian?”

Standing directly in front of Helius, the sparsely-haired slave scrolled to the top portion. He held it at arm’s length, betraying his farsightedness. The back of it showed the top of the single Greek word that had disturbed Helius.